


The best years of my life, you said?

by BlueAlmond



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:23:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9607475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueAlmond/pseuds/BlueAlmond
Summary: When Enjolras is in ninth grade, he discovers how oppressive his school really is and is arrested for the first time.In tenth grade, his father starts dating the police officer that arrested him a year earlier, so naturally, by eleventh year he assumed things would settle down.Oh, how wrong he was.





	1. Ninth Grade - One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I apologize in advance for any mistakes since English is not my first language and I don't have a Beta.  
> I started writing this story a while ago, but had wanted to make one chapter of every year and always felt like there was something missing, so I gave up on that and decided to divide them.  
> I hope you like following Les Amis through High School, because it will probably take a while.

To the senator Jean Valjean, receiving a call to inform him that his son Enjolras had been arrested for disturbing the peace after an improvised protest outside his private school was not really a surprise. To recognize the inspector of the police, however, was a different story.

“That is your kid? I guess it was predictable that the father would be a law breaker too…” the man narrowed his eyes.

“None of us are guilty of what you’re accusing us, sir.” The senator tried to defend himself as his son looked at him quizzically.

“I believe you are, sir.”

“Is the law blind to people’s suffering? Because if it is, then I won’t deny that we are, law breakers, I mean. But if it is not, then I won’t accept it. I refuse to believe that acting for those who are in pain is a crime.” Javert snorted.

“Please, sir, don’t go putting those ideas inside a fourteen year old boy, you can see the results are no good.” He gestured towards the blond, serious kid who frowned and grimaced.

“I don’t know what you mean, I am proud of my son.” He squeezed his son’s shoulder and the boy relaxed, standing even taller in his place and grinning satisfied.

The inspector cleared his throat and said: “Well, if you’re going to be like that I have no doubt we’ll meet again in similar circumstances. You may leave now.”

The senator bowed his head and left with a tight grip on his son’s shoulder.

“So… tell me more about this… insurrection you commanded?”

“It wasn’t such a thing… I told Combeferre to inform the student’s council about a reunion others schools of the district were planning, and the teacher said that our school had already banned that kind of ‘problematic behavior’ and told Combeferre that it was pointless to tell the council.” He sighed through his nose. “We told them anyway, of course, but they said that the teacher was right, and there was actually a rule that prohibited the organization through the student’s council with other schools. Can you believe that?”

“So you organized everyone in the school and made an unauthorized protest in the front door?”

“I knew they’d call the cops, but at least they had to deal with a little scandal.” Valjean chuckled.

“Alright, try not to do it again, though. That is a good school.”

“I could do just fine in a public school.”

“But I like that you’re having more opportunities than me, it means your lives might be easier”

“Why should my life be any easier? Everybody should…”

“I know, but this is not an ideal world just yet. If you want to turn it into one, though, you’re going to need a good education, and resources to achieve it, alright?”

Enjolras sighed. “Yes, I know”

“Besides, you go to school with your sister. Have you ever asked her if she likes it or not?”

“No, but…”

“Then I believe you need to have that conversation before getting yourself expelled arbitrarily.” The senator spoke kindly as ever, but his son knew he was being serious, so he entered the black BMW 520i with a tiny scowl but said nothing more on the subject, and they drove away towards their residential neighborhood in a comfortable silence.

Once at home, the teenager took a deep breath and went to face his twin sister like his father told him to, but in a few minutes the conversation was over and the boy was hurrying to his bedroom looking like a very upset tomato and worrying about his lack of ideas for improving the world he was living in. After a not very productive half an hour, he decided to send a message for an emergency meeting of the music club come tomorrow morning.

♫

“If the student’s council is not doing anything then we must do it!” Enjolras hit the table with his extended hand.

“And how exactly are we going to do that?” Combeferre muttered.

“We could make another protest?” Bahorel offered way too excited about the idea.

“No, that was for getting their attention, and we know how is going to end, perhaps even faster a second time. We need to find another way, one that will not get us expelled nor arrested.” The blond clarified repressing a shiver.

“How about a party?” Courfeyrac offered.

“What?” Enjolras frowned.

“A party, you know. With music, food, maybe even alcohol? They won’t let us go to meetings with other schools, okay, whatever, but they cannot forbid us to have parties on weekends with people that not attend here, right?”

“That is actually a good idea.” Combeferre grinned.

“Yes… yes, it is, but no alcohol. Create an event on Facebook and let’s see how it goes.”

“Yeah, and you know what else we could do? Play music, like we’re supposed to.” Feuilly proposed gesticulating a lot with his hands.

“This is the only place where we can meet without a teacher.” Enjolras sighed. “But I never intended to play any music. Did you?”

“Well, yeah,” the red-haired boy shrugged, “my scholarship was not only for this school, you know? I chose this one because of its art program, and I’ve played the piano once. Nobody pays any attention at the music class, and the club, well, _this_ is the club. I really want to play music.”

“Me too, I’m learning how to play the drums, you know.” Bahorel stated.

“Hey, that could be fun. Why don’t we start a band?” Courfeyrac proposed with a huge grin.

“A band?” Enjolras barked narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, think about it. You could write our songs, they’d be about big issues and stuff.”

“ _Stuff_ ” Enjolras howled arching his eyebrows feeling insulted.

“No, I think Courfeyrac could have a point. That could be the diffusion method we were looking for.” Combeferre reasoned excited.

“A _band_?” Enjolras said again, frowning.

“Enjolras, people would actually listen to what you have to say.” The boy with the glasses insisted.

“And even if they don’t, if the music is good they’d sing along and we’d all have a good time.” Courfeyrac shrugged.

“Okay, what would we need?” he sighed but decided it would be useless (and mean) to say no.

“Well, Bahorel said he could play the drums, and Feuilly what do you do?” Courfeyrac started planning excited.

“I play guitar and piano.” the ginger smiled easily.

“You can’t sing?” Combeferre grimaced.

“Well, I believe Enjolras should be the singer, right?” the brunet commented.

“Only if he can sing.” Combeferre said while cleaning his glasses nervously.

The other three boys turned to see the blond that stared back with wide eyes.

“So?”

“Well, I…” he muffled edgy.

“Sing something!” Bahorel shouted.

“Here?”

“Enjolras, this _is_ the music club.”

“Alright, alright…” he cleared his throat. “And what do I sing?”

“Anything.”

“I can’t think of anything.”

Courfeyrac chuckled. “Okay, what is the drama club working on? I heard your sister was the star, so she must have been singing at home, right?”

“Yeah, they’re making…” he swallowed and glared. “They’re making a very lame British musical that’s not even a play, but they say is an important matter because it’s about eating disorders and I don’t know any song from it.”

“Sing something!” the drummer and the guitarist shout at unison.

Enjolras growled and laid his head backwards, staring at the roof, so everybody was startled when he started singing an Ed Sheeran song: “ _White lips, pale face, struggling to pay rent…_ ”

Courfeyrac shared an amused look with Combeferre, Feuilly grinned and Bahorel just stared at the blond with wide eyes.

“ _And we're all under the upper hand… go mad for a couple grams; and we don't want to go outside tonight. And in a pipe we fly to the Motherland, and sell love to another man. It's too cold outside for angels to fly, or angels to die._ ”

“Dude, you can sing!” Courfeyrac cheered with a huge grin.

“Your voice is pretty good.” Feuilly commented happily.

“So we have our members, now we need the music.” Combeferre nodded.

“What are you two going to do?” Bahorel asked.

“I’m the PR!” Courfeyrac yelled. “I already created a Google account for the YouTube channel and I’m doing the Instagram right now.”

“I can make some arrangements and stuff…” Combeferre rubbed the back of his neck. “I can play the piano too.”

“Great, but we’re still having a party, right?” Courfeyrac whined.

“Maybe we should wait until we have a couple of songs? So we can play at the party?” Bahorel suggested.

“Cool. Me and ‘Rel can work on the music.” Feuilly said.

“Alright, Enjolras should do the lyrics, correct?” the boy with the glasses muttered and the blond turned to look at him in despair.

“What?”

“Yeah, I mean, in the end they’re just musicalized speeches, right?”

Everybody agreed that he was the most appropriate for the job, and told him to start working on them right away, that’s what brought Enjolras to the school’s library on a Friday after everyone had already gone home, devanning his brains trying to write a song for the first time in his life.

“I’ve never seen you this quiet. Is everything okay?” a skinny boy with dirty blond curly hair long to his shoulder that he couldn’t remember having seeing him before asked with a soft, piercing voice.

“Do I know you?” Enjolras frowned.

“Probably not, but I know you,” the boy shrugged. “I’m a classmate of yours, although I’m sure everybody in the school knows you by now so that isn’t really… what is that?” he pointed the notebook and the blond blushed, trying to cover the poor excuse of song he was working on. “Is it a poem? Are you interested in joining the literature club? There are only five of us, so…”

“It’s not a poem.” Enjolras snapped, and quickly felt the irrational urge to apologize.

“Oh… then what is it? I can see you were trying to make it rhyme.”

“Well… yeah, it’s… a song.” He confessed embarrassed.

“A song?” he stared at him with wide eyes. “Cool, what’s the music like?”

“I… I’m not sure, it’s not quite ready yet, they want me to finish the lyrics first, but…” he sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. It was hard to imagine how the words would fit in something that had no length in his mind.

“Can I help?”

“I don’t think you’ve told me your name?”

“I’m Jean Prouvaire, but friends call me Jehan.” He offered him his hand, and Enjolras shook it.

“Pleasure.”

“For me it is. I really like writing poems though, and for what I could read, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Why are you so embarrassed? I mean, a song is supposed to be heard by people, right?”

“I’m still trying to get used to the idea…”

“Okay, what is going on? Because you’re the guy who just last week was talking through a megaphone to everyone who’d listen about our rights to express ourselves and the coercion we were being victims here in this school… how could you be embarrassed about this?”

“Because it’s a completely different thing!”

“How is it any different?”

“Because… when I’m up there, in front of everyone, words just… flow out of my mouth, and it’s okay, because they _need_ to hear it, it’s not a matter of how the message is send, but the fact that they receive it. This, however… is something they’re going to know I put… time into building it, so if it sucks…”

“I think everybody pretty much assumes you spent your free time writing speeches about liberty and equality” Jehan grinned. “And this, my friend, does not suck. And it’s not only about the lyrics. A person will decide if it’s worth it or not to hear the message you’re sending _only_ if they like the music. Who is working on that?”

“Do you know Feuilly and Bahorel? They’re on our same class.”

“Yeah, Feuilly is the one that’s always trying to _actually_ play music in the music class, and Bahorel is the one that yells a lot.”

“That would be them” Enjolras nodded and followed smiled widely.

“They look like fun people” he shrugged.

“They are… would you like to join the music club? Technically we were there to discuss without a teacher around, but then Feuilly and Courfeyrac thought it would be useful to spread our ideas through music or something like that” he frowned. “And now we’re discussing possible names and melodies instead of the importance of free healthcare and the futility of our judicial system” he shook his head. Jehan’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“Wow, your parties must be fun”

“I don’t give parties, I find them pointless”

“Of course you do” the poet chuckled. “But you know what… I’m not really a musician, but I’d like to join your club. Maybe I could help you with the lyrics if you feel unsure about them”

“That would be nice, yeah” the blond smiled cheerfully and looking clearly relieved.

So when Monday came, Jehan followed Enjolras to the music room after a weekend of texts and voicemails about lyrics and spicy food.

“Everyone, this is Jehan. He is in the literature club and has been helping me with the lyrics for our songs” the blond introduced the skinny boy that entered behind him.

“I wouldn’t say that I helped, I merely gave you my opinion…”

“And that improved the song; I believe that’s what helping means?”

“Well, if you insist…” the boy shrugged and grinned. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you all, I mean, I’ve seen all of you, but we’ve never talked”

“Yeah, I remember you from our English class; didn’t you read a poem you wrote once?” Courfeyrac commented.

“Yeah”

“Wait, does this mean you finished more than one song?” Bahorel asked.

“He did” Jehan said after one stolen look to the singer who seemed like a scared rabbit. “He finished two and is currently working in other three that sound pretty good to me, but I don’t think he’ll be able to finish them until he has an idea of what the music would be like. What do you guys have?”

“I want to hear it too, yeah! They kicked me out last Friday!” Courfeyrac pouted.

“We only did it because you were distracting everybody instead of helping” Combeferre muttered.

“Whatever. Can’t you guys play anything?”

“Well, we have a couple of ideas, but we were waiting for the lyrics, so…” Everybody turned to the lead singer, who stood frozen like a deer caught in the headlights until Jehan sighed and grabbed his backpack.

“It’s the blue one, right? Here” he gave Feuilly a notebook.

“Okay…” he grabbed his guitar, and started playing a soul-ish melody while reading the lyrics, and muttering something without really singing, and quickly later Bahorel joined him with the drums. They played for a little less than a minute and the guitar player nodded to Combeferre, who started playing a variation of Feuilly’s part on his keyboard. They sounded pretty good.

“That was awesome! But what’s the song about?” Courfeyrac inquired.

“Enjolras, do you think you could join us this time?” the ginger smiled.

They practiced for almost forty minutes after that, reading the rest of the songs Enjolras had been working on and creating new melodies on the keyboard which Feuilly later would play on his guitar. The lyrics were nice, the music sounded good and they were having fun and suddenly it was dark outside and they had to go home.

“You sound good, but there’s something missing…” Courfeyrac muttered while arranging his backpack.

“You guys need a bass player” Jehan commented.

“Do you know anyone?”

“Actually… I do, I’ll tell her. She doesn’t go to our school, but is pretty cool”

And just like that, three days later they had a girl in their band…

_“Jehan told me you guys could use a bass player” she shrugged. “And that your school actually had basses… mine is really trashy, so…”_

_“Basically, you want us to give you a bass” Bahorel mumbled tiredly._

_“But I’m good”_

_“Okay” Feuilly agreed._

_“Wait, we haven’t even heard…”_

_“Let’s play with her” he shrugged. “I know what is like to have a shitty instrument and wanting something better. Besides, if Jehan told her, then he must think she’s good enough, and we really need her.”_

And now they were having lunch downtown almost every day so they could meet her.

“This party is going to be huge!” Courfeyrac assured, pointing at no one in particular with a French fry.

“Where is it going to be? I don’t want to be a killjoy, but if we’re going to make our debut in front of a lot of students from my school and others where you guys are nobody… they’re going to be a hard audience, and the acoustics must be…”

“Relax, ‘Nine, we’re doing it at my house.” the PR smirked.

“What?” the girl shrieked paling.

“I think it’s a good place.” Combeferre nodded.

“Are you nuts? Are we going to play at your backyard or your basement? Are you insane?! They’ll hate us! They’ll mock us for the rest of eternity! They’ll…!”

“Why don’t we go there now and practice there before Éponine has a heart attack?” the lead singer proposed.

“I believe that’s a good idea. Besides I don’t think I’ve ever been there” Feuilly said.

“Dude! That’s right! None of them has, Courf!” Bahorel yelled shocked. “Neither Jehan, Feuilly or Éponine has been to your house! When was the last time you made a party, dude?”

Courfeyrac sighed theatrically: “It was too damn long ago, ‘Rel” he clapped “okay, let’s go! My mom’s coming for me so I can take some people, who needs a drive? In addition to Enjolras”

“I don’t need a drive”

“Yes you do Mr. ‘I don’t need a driver, papa, normal people don’t have drivers so I rather walking five miles to the freaking subway everyday’; it takes you forever to get there, so you are coming with me”

“You take the subway?”

“No, I take the subway to go downtown. I walk home”

“You walk?” Éponine shouted with wide eyes.

“The subway doesn’t go to our neighborhood, the closest station is the one near our school, in the other direction” Combeferre explained.

“Of course the subway doesn’t go to your neighborhood” the girl rolled her eyes. “How do you guys handle these rich boys every day?” she asked Jehan and Feuilly, who both laughed and shrugged.

“You know my father, ‘Nine, and his family is ten times worse. I can manage a couple of revolutionary preppy boys any day” Jehan replied.

“But answering to Courf, I believe all of us, who don’t live uptown, needs a ride” Feuilly gestured to Jehan and Éponine.

“Who wants to come with me?” Combeferre questioned. “Seeing as one of you won’t fit and Bahorel can’t take anybody”

“I could…”

“No, two people on a motorcycle is dangerous enough, thank you”

“I’ll go with you” Enjolras sighed.

“Alright”

“You honestly to god walk?” Even when it’s raining?”

“What about your sister??”

“She accepted the driver, and when it’s raining I go with her”

“You’re unbelievable”

“Whatever, let’s go party!”

“No, Courf, this is going to be only a rehearsal so we see how we sound and everything” the boy with the glasses reminded him, but Courfeyrac was no longer listening.

“Oh damn you rich boys.” the only girl muttered when she arrived to Courfeyrac’s place.

“Yep, I was thinking the backyard is good? Combeferre said he got everything covered about the sound?”

“Yeah, I got us a generator, a pair of smoke machines, a stage…”

“What?”

“I think you should’ve started with that.” Feuilly complained with a huge smirk that rested its impact.

“How much is all that going to cost?”

“Don’t worry about it, I got it almost covered. If you all could spend… fifty bucks? We’d be good.”

“Why do I feel like you’re lying.” the girl narrowed her eyes.

“Okay, with seventy I can get the stage, the lights, and all the equipment, but we’ll have to pay a fifty dollar fee for the noise.”

“What?”

“That’s what the neighbor’s council decided.”

“That’s one hundred and seventy bucks that you weren’t telling us of, that we should all share…” Feuilly calculated fast.

“But the…”

“Hey, we’re getting the place for free, so those fifty bucks can be that, okay?”

“And the stage, the generator, and the cleaning company we’re getting for the day after…”

“We’re getting a cleaning company?”

“Do you think you’re going to feel like cleaning the next day?”

“Oh, hell no.”

“Exactly.”

“And how much will that cost?” Feuilly sighed.

“Guys, we’re singing about justice, and how sometimes equality is not the same thing. It’s okay, you don’t have to pay the same as us, because if you’d had to it wouldn’t be fair, alright?” Enjolras argued. “And Combeferre didn’t just said a random number earlier, he asked me if it was okay to hire all of these things, and we studied those that were absolutely necessary and those who weren’t, and then we rested those that were extra because of a caprice or two, that and transport because it’s not easy to get here and we know it.”

“Okay, but you guys should’ve told us earlier.” Éponine agreed immediately without giving the ginger the time to say anything else.

“I want to pay too.” Jehan said.

“No way; you are our friend and a member of the music club, but not the band, because you refuse to take the credit for any song.”

“Because all I did was give you my opinion!”

“You still helped me! Besides, you’re going to be helping us a lot and we won’t pay you for it, so that could be your part.”

The poet chuckled but didn’t insist.

When the day of the party finally arrived, it found the students on a rally and officer Javert just happened to have the worst possible luck. Normally he wouldn’t be needed on the streets, but it was a massive event and they were short on experienced people. He actually didn’t care that much, it was good being away from his desk without the need of a major crime, but he certainly was not interested in meeting the infamous Jean Valjean of all people.

He saw him thanks to his peripheral vision, but decided it was the best to ignore him. His mere presence was infuriating to the inspector. His easy smile and his gentle manners and the way that the people admired him with such fondness… it was unbearable.

“Javert,” Valjean saluted politely when he passed next to him, interrupting his thoughts.

“Senator,” he nodded, crisping his fists.

“Oh, my…” his partner gasped. “Senator Jean Valjean? It’s a pleasure to meet you! What a surprise…”

“Not really.” Javert muttered. “His son was arrested the other day for discussing about these issues on the street.”

“He was outside his school, and it was a protest against his teacher who had said it was not important and wouldn’t let the student’s council to meet with other schools from the zone.”

“Wow… I guess he’s going to follow your steps eventually, then?” officer Gilbert presumed with big eyes and a dumb smile. The senator chuckled.

“I don’t know about that…” he shook his head and turned his head towards the group who was not so discretely offering pamphlets.

“Come to my party tonight, we’ll have booze, food, and excellent music.” Courfeyrac was saying while giving his pamphlets with the address.

“We’d like to continue discussing and acting on our society’s problems…” Combeferre added.

“The music will be about that, actually…” Feuilly winked.

“There won’t be any booze, Courf.” Enjolras frowned.

“Don’t say that, do you want these people to come or not?” the brunet hissed, and the singer merely rolled his eyes and focused on what the people would do after they’d taken their papers. Some would throw it away after reading it, others would save it but wouldn’t read it, and others would turn to them with a smile assuring their presence. It gave him an odd feeling, especially because he’d be singing to those people tonight, but it wasn’t a _bad_ feeling. Odd, and yet it wasn’t bad. And so they left the rally earlier to prepare everything for tonight.

“This party is awesome!” a boy that Enjolras remembered from that morning shouted.

“Yeah, but what happened with the live music?”

“In a minute.” Courfeyrac winked and the lead singer suddenly had trouble breathing.

Over the past few weeks he had become more confident about his lyrics, and he knew that their songs were good, but to sing… to sing in front of all that people, that was different. Because they wouldn’t care to listen and understand his message if he sang badly, and that simply scared the crap out of him.

“Okay, this is it. Are you ready?” Feuilly asked patting his back.

Enjolras had to swallow the knot in his throat to answer a weak “Yeah” that made the ginger smile.

“Relax, you’ll be great. Right, ‘Rel?”

“Hell, yeah! They’re going to love us!”

“Is he drunk?”

“He had one or two beers.” The guitar player shrugged, and Enjolras groaned in frustration. “Relax!”

“I can’t!”

“Alright guys, you’re up in five, are you ready?” Combeferre said.

“En is having a little panic attack.” Feuilly chuckled.

“That is adorable!” Bahorel mumbled.

The blond took a deep breath trying to ignore the drunken drummer.

“You’ll do just fine, En.” The poet squeezed his arm. The singer just nodded and made his way to the stage to face the crowd.

He certainly wasn’t expecting them to cheer his name, but when they did, the panic he had been feeling all day started to fade away. He was in his element talking to a multitude. And seeing as most of them were drunk, he really shouldn’t worry so much about them getting the message, not that night at least. And just like that, his shoulders felt lighter, and all of a sudden he found himself singing and the people were singing with him, and he was happy.

“You guys were awesome!” Courfeyrac greeted them backstage.

“They really loved us, didn’t they? I wasn’t imagining it?” Bahorel asked with a huge grin, just like the one everybody else was wearing.

“It probably helped the fact that they were drunk, but yeah, they loved us.” Enjolras said.

“They would’ve loved you anyway, you were amazing.” Jehan assured.

“I gotta say… we were pretty awesome back there.” Éponine commented. She hadn’t been sure earlier, but now she was positive that listening to Jehan before had been the best idea she’d ever had. She breathed in the cold air and allowed herself to have a drink now that her part in stage was over, and found herself laughing with Courfeyrac of all people until the place was almost empty. She listened to his nonsense and she told him all about the amazing feeling of being up there, receiving the people’s affection. It made her feel appreciated, loved even. And suddenly the world didn’t look like such a bad place.

But it was only a party, and eventually she had to go back to her crappy place, with her crappy family. She loved them, she really did, but after seeing Courfeyrac parents and what they just did at his house… it just was really unfair that some people were allowed to have such amazing lives and then there was hers. Damn it, she probably was spending too much time with Enjolras and it was giving her stupid ideas about _deserving_ things. But she had accepted long ago that it wasn’t about deserving stuff, you just had them randomly.

“Éponine!” her sister cried for her the minute she opened the door. Looking into Azelma’s red yes felt like someone just threw her a bucket of cold water.

“Az?”

“Gravoche won’t answer his phone, ‘Nine, do you think something happened to him?”

♫

When Monday came, the band was welcomed in school like real celebrities, and it became a little hard to keep their speech about justice and equality when everybody wanted to do favors for them, but eventually they hid in the music room and tried to remember what it was like to come to school the week before.

“Hello, Courfeyrac talking, the PR of the most talented…”

“ _I’m sorry guys, I can’t go to practice today_ ” Éponine interrupted him from the other end of the line.

“Why not?” the brunet pouted, but nobody paid him much attention. Combeferre was writing a paper for history, Feuilly was lazily playing his guitar while talking to Bahorel, Enjolras was reading something in his phone and Jehan was reading a book for the literature club assignment.

“ _Is… my brother, he hasn’t been home for a while, and…_ ”

“Gavroche is missing?” the poet closed the book he had been reading when he heard him.

“ _Well, not missing, I mean, my mother thinks is nothing, but with Az we’re going to go looking for him anyway._ ”

“We’ll go with you.”

“ _No, Courfeyrac, it really isn’t…_ ”

“We’ll go with you.” He insisted while the rest of the club shared amused and troubled looks. It wasn’t common to see their PR being that serious, and even if they had no idea who this ‘Gavroche’ was, if he was missing, it was important, no matter if it was a puppet, a dog or a person. “Okay, we’ll meet you there, bye” he hanged up and sighed with a worried face. “We need to hurry, Éponine’s brother has been missing for a while now.”

“What?” the drummer was the first one to speak shocked.

“Are you sure she said missing? It wouldn’t be the first time he doesn’t go home in a few days.” Jehan muttered.

“It’s been four days. She said nobody’s seen him since Thursday, and he’s not answering his phone.”

The poet was on his feet in a second. “Then what are we waiting for? Where are we meeting her?”

They left in a rush, Courfeyrac in Bahorel’s bike and Jehan guiding the rest of them towards downtown and the places the kid used to hang out, where they would meet with Éponine and her sister Azelma.

They run through the city for hours, asking anybody and everybody, but no one had seemed him over the weekend, and when the sun left, they decided the best was to stop looking for the day.

“It’s pretty late, I was getting worried. I thought you guys were going to rehearse earlier?” the senator asked his son the minute he entered his house with an expression of pure concern.

“We didn’t… you remember Éponine, our bass player?”

“Something happened to her?”

“It’s her brother, he’s missing and we were looking for him.”

“Did they go to the police?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Her mother is not worried because he doesn’t really go home that often, but Éponine knows there is something wrong because no one has seen him and he’s not answering his phone.”

“Do you know how this boy looks like?”

“I’ll send you a picture.”

“Please.”

He wasn’t particularly shocked when he opened the text and found he actually knew the boy. He used to see him every day outside the office until last week’s Thursday, and he was growing worried, but if the mother herself didn’t want to do anything about it, what could he do?

♫

“What can I do for you, sir?” the inspector said controlling his voice.

“Believe me, Javert, that I wouldn’t importunate you if it weren’t important.”

“Then what is it, sir?”

“I… I don’t know really, but I was hoping you could tell me.” He took a deep breath before continue. “There is a boy that I see every day outside my office doing magic tricks to people on the street… his parents have been both in jail in several occasions but the boy is honest and works hard, I know him, and he’s been missing for a week now.”

“And his parents haven’t reported anything?” Javert narrowed his eyes.

The senator shook his head. “He hardly ever goes home, so they probably haven’t even noticed.”

Javert rolled his eyes and repressed a sigh. “Then how can you be so sure he is missing?”

“I just know it, Javert, please, I just… could you look into it, please? I know this isn’t really enough, that’s why I came to you. Please.” He offered him a dossier with a picture of the boy and a few pages of information such as where he usually spent his days, names and phone numbers of his friends, even his favorite food and color.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Thank you.” Valjean smiled, squeezed his shoulder and left, and Javert immediately kept working like it never happened.

Well, he tried.

He really tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t get the senator’s words out of his mind. What if he was right and something had happened to that kid? And furthermore, was this man really that good, like everybody said? Fussing over some kid who may or may not be lost like that… it was ridiculous! And in some odd way, admirable, and it gave him a warm feeling that made him immediately uncomfortable. It wasn’t appropriate to feel such a thing, and yet… he groaned and decided he could use his lunch break to get some fresh air.

If the kid wasn’t particularly fond to go home, he probably was more than fine on his own in the city, and it wasn’t likely for him to be a victim of some kind of robbery. However, if he had witnessed something dangerous, that could’ve gotten him into unwanted trouble, which would’ve forced him to hide or run, that if he was smart enough and lucky. If he wasn’t, though, the possibilities weren’t exactly optimistic.

He stopped to buy some coffee and a sandwich on his way to the docks, where he supposed he could find some of the ‘friends’ that figured on the dossier the senator had gotten him, and overheard a conversation that left him with a bad feeling. A couple of sailors were joking about what they’d do to the bloody thief that had been attacking their ship’s kitchen, and deduced it hat to be some kid because there was no way an adult could sneak in like that.

If he was stealing food, then he was alive. But why would he do that so close from his home? Was there a reason he couldn’t go back? Was he restrained somehow? Was he scared of leaving the docks? Hell, maybe it wasn’t even him. But if there was a hungry orphan with no one looking for him in the docks, he wouldn’t regret finding him, so he continued with his initial plan getting more enthusiastic by every step, because now he knew there really was a reason for him to go.

 


	2. Ninth Grade - Two

The first to arrive were his colleagues and they closed the perimeter quickly. Then came the senator followed by a bunch of children and Javert had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the image proper of a Disney movie. His stomach, however, felt funny when the man smiled tenderly at him, so when a girl approached him he felt relieved to have a reason to look away.

“I’m sorry, the perimeter is closed. Are you a relative of one of the victims?”

 “Yes, I’m Gavroche’s sister, the boy who…”

“You’re a minor too.” he interrupted her with a frown. He already knew who Gavroche was.

“Yes, but… look, my mother is on her way, but can I see him? Please.”

The inspector sighed. “Of course, I believe he might need you, please go ahead.”

The brunette hurried next to the boy and they hugged tightly for a few minutes and only then Javert allowed himself to sigh in relief.

“Thank you.” Valjean said with a kind smile. He had walked right behind the girl but had remained silent.

“Don’t thank me; you are the only responsible for this. You were right.”

“But all I could do was asking for your help, and still you had no reason for listening to me, but you did. You did, and you found him on your own. So let me thank you, Javert, please.”

“The way you say that makes it sound like it’s hard for you to convince me of anything.” The inspector shook his head with a grimace.

“And it isn’t? You just rejected my gratitude not two minutes ago!” The senator argued beaming.

“Because I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

“See?” his smile became even wider, extending the number of crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

“That is not…!”

“And would you have dinner with me, then?”

“I would, of- wait, what?”

“Come with me now, then?”

“To… dinner?” Javert said ineloquently.

“You’ll make me say please again, then?”

“No, I… right now?” He had to stop himself from tearing his hair off, but was pretty sure his wide eyes betrayed his intent of appear calmed.

“Would you prefer another day? I just thought that we could continue with this conversation over dinner?”

The inspector’s brain was overheating probably, thus he nodded absently and agreed to meet the man in twenty minutes at a restaurant he’d never heard of before. Once alone, he realized what he’d agreed to, but decided it was too late to regret it, so arrived the place just in time, and was satisfied to see the senator already there, waiting outside.

“You were early.” He commented as a salute.

“I came here right after we spoke.” The senator shrugged. “I was eager to see you.”

“May I ask why, sir? The details of the investigation are private, and I presume you’ll hear everything from your son anyway.”

“Oh no, unless you wanted to talk about it, I imagine it’s been a long day and I wouldn’t want to importunate you. You are supposed to have a good time, that’s all.”

“You were eager for me to have a good time?” the inspector raised one incredulous eyebrow.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I found it a little hard to believe,” said Javert after he sat. “But apparently, you are surreal like that, aren’t you? What happened to your entourage of teenagers? I thought you only had one son.”

“I have two, actually. Enjolras has a twin, Cosette. The rest of them were their friends, they actually have a band, and Gavroche’s sister is the bass player.” Jean explained with that easy smile that seemed to always appear on his face whenever he spoke of his kids.

The band in question was still at the docks, most of them listening to Gavroche who was sharing some unbelievable tale of how his later days had been and the people he had met while imprisoned in the Asian ship. He spoke of it as a major adventure, but they could see on his shaking hands that it had been terrifying. He had been locked in a dungeon for six days, and somehow he still managed to grin and look like everything was fine.

“You know it was all because of you, right? Thank you.” Éponine muttered with a soft smile. They were a few feet away, Courfeyrac had been subtlety sharing a mute conversation with Combeferre, but at that comment he turned towards the brunette, startled.

“What are you talking about? It was En’s dad who…”

“But the only reason Enjolras knew about it was because of you and your stubbornness. So thank you.”

“You’re being… well, okay, I’ll take that. You are welcome.” The boy gave her a big and playful smile, bright just like him and yet so different from the one he usually gave to girls. The bass player couldn’t help but smile back. “You should do that more often.”

“What more often? _Thank_ you?” She snorted.

Courfeyrac chuckled. “No, smile. You look ten times more beautiful when you smile.”

“Only ten? Then it’s definitely not worth it.” She scowled and bit her inner cheek to avoid laughing along with the brunet.

It was weird, this flirty thing they were doing, because Éponine was pretty sure Courfeyrac had a thing for Combeferre, but couldn’t help to enjoy moments like this, when he wouldn’t act the same way he did with everybody else. It made her feel special, even though she knew it was ridiculous and probably unfounded, and she had to be wrong, because in the end she said the very same things she would tell Jehan or Bahorel and yet it felt so different it was starting to worry her. She buried those troublesome thoughts in the back of her mind and walked to her brother, ready to go home. Maybe it wasn’t the best place. The house was shitty and her parents sucked, but her mom had come eventually, and her sister was a terrific cook, and her brother was probably the most badass kid out there, so she figured things weren’t so terrible after all.

♫

“You’ve done a good job… you really are making a difference” Javert said.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you think that way.”

“It’s not a matter of thinking, those are the facts. You just ask anyone, even a Republican, and they’ll tell you so.” Valjean chuckled.

“Even a republican, you think?”

Javert found himself, against all odds, having a good time. The senator had surprised him. The man was everything the papers said: interesting, respectful, eloquent, and with a light sense of humor that was able to take a few smiles out of him. And suddenly it was very late and he was very nervous and stiff and couldn’t even give the man his freaking phone number. The kids were fourteen, not five. What was the big deal in them being alone at home? He was frustrated and even more frustrated at himself for feeling that way, but he couldn’t help it. The last minutes of his—had it been a date? He couldn’t tell—the last minutes of his… encounter with the senator Jean Valjean had destroyed the nice hour and a half he had spent with a fluent conversation and meaningful glances, and by Thursday he was still regretting it. His anger had reached that point in which his colleagues would avoid him, and he didn’t blame them.

“Inspector Javert?” a blonde girl with a familiar smile called him before he reentered the station, with a sandwich in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Yes?”

“You’re a friend of my father, aren’t you? Could you help us? Someone attacked this lady and stole her purse, and she had her pills and the order for them… they remember her at the drugstore and everything, but they won’t sell it without the order. Maybe if you come with us…”

“Where did the robber go?”

“He escaped through the crowd… I’m afraid I couldn’t recognize him if I ever saw him again,” the old woman said.

Javert sighed, and frowning looked at the girl and gestured to her to speak aside. “How do you know that this woman is telling you the truth? It could be a scam to make you buy those pills without an order, I’m afraid I can’t just walk in the drugstore and ask for…”

“But the girl in the drugstore said…”

“She could be in this too. Besides, you said I’m a friend of your father, but I don’t even know your name, miss…”

“Oh, I’m Jean Valjean’s daughter, Cosette. You’ve met my twin brother, Enjolras?” the inspector blinked, realizing only now who she reminded him of.

“You do have your father’s smile…” he muttered more to himself, yet the girl gave him a huge grin. He then turned to the old lady and said: “I am sorry; there isn’t much I can do. Why don’t you go to your doctor and ask for another order?”

“Because I won’t be able to afford it!”

“I’ll give you my number, and you can call me when you have the order, alright?” the girl said with a tender smile.

The woman snapped and left with an insincere ‘thank you’.

“I don’t think she’ll call…” Javert murmured.

“Do you honestly believe it was a scam?” Cosette asked with a tiny pout in her lips.

“Now even more than before.” He shook his head.

“But she was so sweet and vulnerable…”

“That’s just how rotten this world is, young lady… how expensive were those pills anyway?”

“Oh, very! Two hundred bucks the box.”

“And you’re with that much on you right now?”

“When she first told me I wasn’t, but I got my father’s card and…”

“Dear Lord, and that woman knows it?”

“Well, yeah…” Javert sighed, tired.

“Do you have something to do, or can you go home immediately?”

“I was on my way home.”

“Good, I’ll go with you just in case.”

“Thank you, sir”

They walked together in a comfortable silence that would be interrupted from time to time by innocent questions that went from ‘What is your favorite ice-cream flavor?’ to ‘Do you have any pets?’, all made by the blonde girl, of course, but the inspector answered all of them with the seriousness that a criminal investigation would require, and when they finally arrived to the girl’s house, he nodded and turned to leave, satisfied with a duty done efficiently.

“Won’t you come inside?” Cosette startled him.

“No, I…” he shut in shock when a fancy black car parked next to them carefully.

“Javert?” the senator was surprised but didn’t look upset like the inspector would have expected anyone else to be in this kind of situation.

“Papa, the inspector accompanied me home after an old lady tried to steal two hundred bucks from me!”

“It was a scam that got frustrated, and thus they knew she had that much money on her I considered dangerous for her to continue her way alone.” He felt obligated to clarify after the girl’s rushed, high-pitched and rather confusing explanation.

“Thank you,” the senator muttered sincerely. “Would you like to come in? Take it as a gesture of gratitude for helping Cosette.”

“I don’t think…”

“Oh please stay!” the girl insisted, and he’d rather say that it was her, and not the big hand in his arm, that convinced him.

He wasn’t sure of what he was expecting of the senator’s house to be, but he was surprised nevertheless. The place was clear and spacious, elegant yet sober, and very, very candid.

“You have a beautiful house.”

“Thank you,” Valjean smiled sympathetically. “Would you like some tea?”

“I shouldn’t…”

“Because I’m going to have some tea myself,” he added, “hence it would be no problem.”

The inspector felt tempted to say no, but he replied instead: “Coffee would be good.”

The senator came back in minutes with their drinks, and they sank in a comfortable silence for a while. The inspector knew that at least some conversation was expected, and the man clearly was waiting for him to start it, but he was feeling nervous and the coffee was really good and the sofa was awfully comfortable and he liked the place too much, he couldn’t help thinking he was in trouble. He thought he was in a lot of trouble, to be honest.

“Your daughter said we were friends.”

“Was she wrong?” Jean tilted his head to the right and took his cup between his hands. He had big hands, Javert thought.

“Well, I…” he cleared his throat and said with a professional tone: “We are.”

“That’s good, I like having your friendship. I was wondering, though, would it be possible to have something else?”

Javert was glad he had already finished his coffee when he started coughing. “Are you gay, sir?” he asked after almost a minute. At least his blush could pass as a result of the prolonged coughing.

“To be honest, I believe I’m bisexual, but I must confess I never gave it much thought. I met my wife when I was in high school and never was with anybody else, either before nor after she died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat and looked away.

“It’s okay… if you really want to apologize, though, you could agree to have dinner with me another time?”

The inspector turned slightly colored while saying: “I don’t need to be apologizing for agreeing to that. Last time was indeed quite entertaining, and I would like to repeat the experience.”

Valjean’s face illuminated and that alone was able to squeeze Javert’s heart. Yes, he wanted to repeat the experience, and do it fine this time. He wanted to, like he hadn’t wanted in a while, and that was scary, but he was a police officer, and he could overcome his fears. Even those with big hands and nice voices and easy smiles and wrinkled eyes, though those were the worse ones. Those had the ability to break his heart, but he found himself hoping, maybe stupidly so, that Jean Valjean would not hurt him. That maybe, Jean Valjean could even make him happy.

♫

Far away from the house, the band was having an ‘emergency meeting’ at the McDonald’s they usually had lunch, while having lunch. It hadn’t actually been an extra gathering, but the thing they wanted to discuss was, apparently, an emergency. Or at least that’s what Courfeyrac said, and the rest had more than valid reasons to find it hard to believe. That was, until they saw the boy’s face.

“What happened?” Combeferre asked, frowning with concern.

“Nothing really, but my house is kind of… out of service for a while. We’re going to need another place to practice.” He grimaced.

Jehan nodded and proposed: “What about the school?”

“Hell no, I hate your school, remember what they told me the last time I borrowed a bass?” Éponine grimaced.

“Okay, the school won’t do.” The poet chuckled.

“I guess I could ask my father for his music room, and I don’t think there’ll be any problem.” Enjolras offered.

“Cool, I’ve never been there!” Courfeyrac cheered, but Combeferre knew that whatever it was the reason for they couldn’t rehearse at his place anymore has got him depressed, and wanted to ask why, but didn’t quite know how.

So the day went fast and he was at home before he knew it, worrying about his friend but being too much of a coward to take the phone and call him. And then it was Friday, and Courfeyrac was acting overexcited because they were going to Enjolras’s, and nobody noticed the way the circles under his eyes were more noticeable, or how he would check on his phone from time to time for no reason at all.

“I’ll leave you the house then, take care of each other. If Cosette says that you’re making too much noise…” the senator took his extended right pinky between his left finger and thumb.

“I’ll tell everybody to keep it down.” The blond nodded.

“And if your friends bother them…” he turned towards his daughter, who then rolled her eyes and chuckled.

“Oh, c’mon daddy you know them, they could never bother anybody.”

“Cosette…”

“Okay, if they happen to bother Enjolras, I’ll make them stop or leave if it’s too much, but you know that’s never going to happen.”

“Yes, I do.” Jean chuckled. “Alright, I should be back around midnight, I think, but I’ll try to give you more time, and I’ll try to sleep with your music. However, if I can’t…”

“You just have to tell me and we’ll stop. Besides, midnight is more than enough, at Courf’s place we always stopped around ten, and isn’t the music room supposed to be soundproofing?”

“It is, but don’t tell them that,” he winked. “Okay then…” the senator said goodbye to his children and entered the car feeling worried, and even when he got to the restaurant he couldn’t stop worrying. He knew it was dumb, that the kids were smart and responsible and nothing would happen, that Toussaint was there if they needed anything, and that they would call if they ever needed him, but he still felt negligent. Because the kids may think that he was leaving for them, but he knew that his reasons were far from that. He tried to shake those thoughts out of his mind one more time when he found the inspector already waiting for him at what he was starting to think of as _their_ table, but he knew he had failed when the man turned to look at him and his expression became a reflection of the concern he was feeling.

“Did something happen?”

“No, no, it’s just… it’s pretty late and the kids are alone… well, they’re not alone, some friends are coming over and…”

“They’re having a party?” Javert raised one eyebrow.

“No, no, Enjolras is practicing with his band and Cosette has two or three friends over who’re going to spend the night, that’s all.”

“I thought Mme. Toussaint would stay with them?”

“Yes, she is on her way, but I…”

“Then what are you worrying about?”

The senator hesitated before shrugging with a helpless: “I don’t know.”

The taller man sighed and shook his head. “Nothing is going to happen to them, they’re your kids, your responsible, considerate, _good_ kids.”

“I know, I trust them.”

“Then relax. You are not doing anything wrong, you only went out to have dinner, it’s not like you abandoned them to go on vacation, alright?”

“No, of course.”

“Good, now look at the menu and pick a wine because I’m no expert.”

♫

“What is going on, Courf?” Combeferre finally asked his friend once they were alone at their singer’s kitchen.

“You noticed, huh?”

“Of course I did! But I don’t know what is it that’s got you like this, all I know is it has to do with the fact that we can’t go to your place anymore, is that right?”

Courfeyrac sighed. “That’s correct”

“Then tell me what happened, Courf, please.” He needed to know. He needed to understand so he could do something about it, or at least the brunet could share his burden with someone. He was not going to analyze the fact that he absolutely _needed_ that someone to be him.

“Okay… my mother left.”

“What?”

“That was my exact reaction. Apparently she left with her yoga instructor or something like that, but we don’t know for sure, I mean, she left a letter and disappeared, and hasn’t called nor given any sign of life, dad is still waiting for her to call, and he’s getting desperate.” He shook his head, as if he thought that his father behavior was ridiculous or pitiful. Maybe he thought both things.

“Oh, Courf, I…” both jumped with a loud noise and turned to see someone at the door with his arms raised in surrender.

“Sorry, didn’t hear anything, ignore me, ignore me please” a skinny boy with Asian features said with a tiny smile.

“Who are you?”

“Bossuet, I’m a friend of Cosette, sorry to interrupt, I just wanted some water and I’m terrible with this tottery doors.”

“It’s okay, don’t think about it.” Courfeyrac gave him one of his patented radiant grins, and Combeferre couldn’t help frowning.

The intruder was looking for a glass when a second unknown person entered the kitchen.

♫

“It was cancer.” He answered the unmade question.

“I see, I’m sorry, I…”           

“It’s okay… the kids hardly can remember her, and the diagnosis was too late anyway… she rejected the treatment and enjoyed her last three months with a smile on her face. I haven’t met a stronger person yet, and I don’t think I ever will.”

“She sounds like an amazing person…”

“She was.” He nodded.

“… And yet, selfish, maybe? Wasn’t there even the slightest chance?”

Valjean sighed. “Her father… it was cancer too, but he… he tried everything, and he lasted for three whole years, and she said she’d never do that to us. That in the end he wasn’t her father at all, but a sad corpse permanently in pain with no force left, a pitiful imitation of the man he once was. She did not want that, and I respected her decision then, and I still do.”

“I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry for speaking without knowing the whole story.”

“It’s okay. What about you? Have you ever been married?”

“I… no, never. I mean, I was about to, once, but I… I am gay, Jean, and I wasn’t in the mood for a road trip. And in the end, he couldn’t handle his family’s opposition, so…” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, we were too young anyway.”

“You think you would’ve regretted it?”

“I guess I can’t really tell, but… yeah, I think that his family would have separated us sooner or later, and I’m happy it was sooner, it was less complicated.”

“I guess so… and what about your family? Did they ever…?” he stopped talking after seeing the officer paled.

“I come from a Romani family, and my orientation it’s not very accepted. I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Will we be apologizing all night, Jean?”

“I hope not.”

“Then stop. I can assure you nothing you’ll say will offend me, actually… it’s kind of… flattering, that you care enough to ask, so…” he blushed slightly and kept silent when the senator squeezed his hand over the table tenderly.

“Okay then. Did you like the wine?”

“Very. I’m not an expert, though, you know that.” He had to look away, overwhelmed by Valjean’s smile and caring eyes. He was falling hard and fast, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it, and for once, he wasn’t sure that it was a bad thing.

♫

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and stole a glimpse to his friend, who was frowning. This was the only non-suspicious place for them to talk alone, and he really wanted to continue with their conversation but it started to seem like it would be impossible. The newcomer had said his name was Joly and had given them a polite smile, but then had turned to the Asian-looking kid and his face had become hostile. So the brunets stood there cold, in silence, waiting for them to take the clue and leave, but the thing was that Bossuet and Joly really had their own problem and were definitely not paying them any attention. To make the story short, Joly had been pining over this girl, Musichetta, since kindergarten, and even though sometimes she would gave him odd looks, then she’d see Bossuet and her expression would transform entirely into pure _love._ So Joly couldn’t stand Bossuet, but not because the girl of his dreams was madly in love with the guy, but because said guy wouldn’t do anything about it.

“Haven’t you notice the way she looks at you?” the ginger finally snapped.

“Well, yeah, but I…”

“Then why don’t you do anything? It would be a lot easier if you just…”

“Because I don’t like her that way,” Bossuet said it as if it was something he had said a thousand times, and it probable was. Because the thing was Joly was so full of love over Musichetta that he never actually considered that other people didn’t necessarily feel the same way; he’d just assume everyone else loved her.

“You don’t like her? How could you not like her? She’s adorable!”

The other boy sighed and closed his eyes for a minute, gathering his thoughts. Ha had tried telling Joly that he didn’t like her that way for an entire year, and the ginger still wouldn’t listen, so he took a deep breath and decided to go a little bit further today.

“She really is, but… well, she is a girl.” H confessed and shrugged.

“What?”

“I haven’t come out yet at school, but I trust you, so… Joly, I’m gay. And I’m actually utterly and deeply in love with someone else. I’d really hate to break her heart, and that’s why I act like I don’t notice anything, I’m sorry if my attitude has been bothering you.”

“No, it’s okay” Joly assured him and finished his own glass of water. “Thank you for telling me, I’ll… I’ll go check the girls now.” He rushed upstairs, clearly still trying to process the idea.

“Okay.”

“Oh, but it’s not okay, isn’t it?” Courfeyrac muttered once Joly had left.

“Courfeyrac?” the brown-eyed boy stared at him with wide eyes, like suddenly remembering that he was there.

“Relax, I won’t tell anybody what I heard, but… the boy you are in love with, it’s him, isn’t it?”

The black-haired boy took a deep breath before nodding solemnly.

“Aren’t you going to tell him?”

“No way, he barely tolerates me. Besides, he likes Musichetta.” He filled his glass once more, drank it all in one go, and then left with a nervous smile.

Combeferre sighed, and was about to return to his conversation with Courfeyrac when the singer’s twin followed by a curly brunette entered the kitchen. He wanted to scream, by now.

“Cosette, sorry to bother, but… why would you invite those two? I mean, Joly is a great guy, but he’s obviously having a bad time…” Courfeyrac said straightforward like he always was.

“Yes, that’s why Musichetta and I are trying to speed things up a little.” The girls giggled.

“What do you mean?” Combeferre frowned.

“Well, they obviously have feelings for each other, but none of them will do anything, so we thought that maybe if they stayed here…”

“Wait, when you say _they_ , you mean…”

“Joly and Bossuet! Who else?” Musichetta cheered completely oblivious.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre shared a concerned look. The girl had no idea, and not only that, but she was trying to set the poor guy up with someone else, with someone he couldn’t even stand! How ironic was that?

♫

“Tell me more about your job, the people you work with.” Jean asked.

The inspector coughed. “There really isn’t much to tell, Jean. I’d rather hear more stories about your kids.”

“Oh, but I’ve been telling those all night!”

“And that’s okay; I like the sound of your voice.” The minute he confessed it he turned into a giant embarrassed tomato whose filter was clearly affected by the wine. “I mean…” he coughed. “What I meant to say was… it’s nice… just, listening to you.” He knew he wasn’t exactly making it better, if anything he was making it worse, but it definitely was worth it if he got to put that smile on the senator’s face.

♫

“We have to tell her.” Courfeyrac stated in an angry and determinate whisper.

“No way! This is none of our business, Courf, we have to let Joly…”

“Are you insane? Joly will never tell Chetta ‘cause he thinks she’s in love with Bossuet, and Bossuet will never tell Joly because he knows he is in love with Chetta… this is chaotic, I can’t let them keep going like this!”

“Yes, you can, and that’s in fact what you’re going to do.”

“’Ferre…!”

“End of the discussion, Courf,” he declared in a whisper that still managed to sound authoritarian which almost seemed to convince the brunet until the girls, still talking at the other side of the huge kitchen, burst laughing. They had been talking about the boys.

“Musichetta…”

“Courfeyrac, don’t…!”

“Joly is not in love with Bossuet!”

“Don’t be silly, of course he is,” she giggled. “He is in denial, but I know him, I know it’s not so easy to tell, but I know he is.”

“What gave you that idea?” Combeferre shrieked with a scowl thinking that Musichetta must be one of the most oblivious people in the planet. Oh, little did he know, would Courfeyrac think if he could listen to him.

“It’s the way he is always so conscious around him, and when they’re not together he asks for him, and is always worried about him…” Cosette explained with a silly smile.

“I mean, I worry about Bossuet too because he’s got the worst luck, seriously, but Joly… Joly is always in the edge of a panic attack whenever Bossuet tries to do something he’s never done before.”

“Furthermore, wouldn’t they make a beautiful couple?” Cosette added with a goofy smile.

“Oh, the cutest!” Chetta nodded with a twin expression.

Courfeyrac turned towards Combeferre with a frown and grabbed him to talk outside after saying “sure, excuse us for a minute” to the girls. “Okay, what do you think? Is it possible that Joly isn’t aware of his own feelings?”

“That or he lied to us.”

“No, that’s not it.” He shook his head and frowned.

“Courf, he doesn’t know us, it wouldn’t be a crime.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think is that.”

“Guys, what are you doing outside? Come listen, we sound amazing!” Bahorel called them.

“Sure, in a minute! Okay, what do we do now?”

“Now we do nothing, Courf, this is none of our business…”

“There they are, look!” he grabbed Combeferre by the hand and entered the library where Joly and Bossuet were apparently talking normally.

“Joly, what made you think that Musichetta is in love with Bossuet?” Courfeyrac went straight to the point.

“I already told you, how she’s always talking about him…”

“And whenever they’re doing something together, she invites me,” Bossuet added and the ginger boy nodded.

“What if we told you that… perhaps… she doesn’t like him that way?”

“What are you talking about? Everybody loves Bossuet!” Joly claimed.

“Clearly not everybody” Combeferre muttered looking away with a frown.

“Well no,” Joly nodded. “I don’t, but she does, she totally does!” he insisted gesticulating a lot with his hands, which earned him a tiny silly smile from the black-haired boy. “You’d believe me after talking to her for a minute or two; she’s always saying what a great guy Bossuet is!”

The brunet turned to his friend with a look that just said ‘ _Maybe him and Chetta really are made for each other_ ’, and was answered by a deep brow that seemed to be saying ‘ _I know_ ’. Combeferre loved their silent conversations, but there wasn’t much they could share though them. For starters, he couldn’t ask about his mother like this. He couldn’t offer him to come to his house if he was feeling sad, or tell him to call him whenever he wanted to, or hear his cheerful voice do that thing where it turned suddenly very, very low and it made his toes and fingers tingle.

“I really think this is none of our business, Courf. The guys are waiting for us. Can we please go?”

“No, this is more important.”

“What’s more important than practice?” Feuilly, the one sent to go looking for them this time, was frowning by the door, and the brunet couldn’t help shivering, The boy could be intimidating when he wanted to.

“Love!” He claimed nonetheless. One day he’d be punched, and he’ll have it coming.

Feuilly groaned. “Shut up, how did you even found out?”

Combeferre raised his eyebrows.

“The girls told me.”

“One really cannot trust them.”

“I believe there is some kind of misunderstanding here,” Combeferre said, “because the girls haven’t told us anything about… well, you. Are you worried they told us something to do with you?”

Feuilly blushed. “They didn’t…? Oh, I guess I was… I mean, no, I thought… just, forget about it, alright?”

“I wouldn’t mind, but Courfeyrac here…”

“Oh my God, there is more? What was it? Are you pinning over someone too? Is that someone inside this house?”

“What? No, I’m not _pinning—_ ”

“Are you dating, then?”

The ginger looked like a tomato at this point, whereas Joly and Bossuet had slipped out the library successfully without being noticed by the enthusiastic brunet. The boy with the glasses started cleaning them with a sigh. Clearly, his friend didn’t want to talk about his own problems, and he could only wait the boy would come to him when he was ready.

“I… think I may be. But it’s nothing serious yet, I just told her I liked her, and…”

“Wait, are you dating Musichetta?” Courfeyrac was grinning, and Combeferre was glad Joly was not there to see that. “That means she definitely doesn’t feel a thing about Bossuet, see—! Where are they?”

“They left for Cosette room a few minutes ago. Couldn’t you just… let it be, Courf? Please?”

The boy sighed heavily. I still want them to get together tonight, if possible.”

“We don’t know if Joly feels that way about Bossuet.”

“But we know that they were mistaken about Musichetta.”

“And that she’s already taken. How come Joly didn’t know that?”

“Probably because he doesn’t care as much as he thinks he does. He must be in love with Bossuet!”

Combeferre shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re awfully mistaken, or shockingly right.” The alluded smirked. “However, we came here to practice, and they’ll stay until tomorrow, so whatever you want to tell them can wait.”

“Yeah, ‘Ferre’s right. Everyone is waiting.”

“I’m the PR, you don’t need me.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “First, Combeferre is not going to let you go up there alone, and second, we do need you, that’s why you’re here. You give us your opinion and take pictures to later post in Instagram and all that shit, we always look pretty awesome in those.”

“Alright, alright, but I’m still talking to them once we’re done.”

♫

“I don’t believe the boy had seen anything like that before, but I still consider his reaction a little exaggerated.”

Valjean chuckled. “To be honest, I don’t think I could’ve kept my lunch in my stomach either. I mean, I’m having a hard time trying to imagine the scene, but you said that the smell was the worse, and that…” he shook his head, “poor boy, that’s all I’m going to say.”

“It wasn’t exactly a _difficult_ job, but it was… unpleasant. And that’s probably the reason they send a rookie.”

“And what were you doing there?”

Javert took a sip of wine before shrugging and saying: “I had been rude to the wrong people.”

“And so they send you to do an easy but disgusting job?”

“They couldn’t fire me or degrade me, so they tried to humiliate me.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really. I never complained like they expected, and when the situation that had put me in that uncomfortable place repeated itself, this time with the offender’s son, I did exactly the same thing, thus I think it did not. They left me alone after that. I thought they’d try to do something worse, but they just gave up.”

The senator shook his head with an expression that only showed how fascinated he was by the man in front of him. “You are certainly something else, aren’t you, Javert?”

The inspector cleared his throat. “What do you mean? I just did the right thing.”

“And I’m sure you know what a rare thing that is nowadays.”

“You’re famous for _always_ doing the right thing.”

“I try to, yes.” He looked away blushing lightly.

♫

Practice was hardly over, but Courfeyrac had more than enough pictures and whatever they were playing now was a song that wasn’t even finished. They had Jehan to comment on the lyrics and give his opinion anyway, so he went to the bathroom and never came back to the music room, that, what a surprise, it was soundproof. He found the boys having a quiet conversation next to the pool. Bossuet was looking far away and Joly was looking at him, and Courfeyrac just knew he was doing the right thing interfering because they clearly were idiots that needed help, and the girls were angels that had tried just that.

“Did you know that Musichetta is already dating someone? And apparently she really likes him, and he’s not Bossuet. He doesn’t even look like Bossuet. Actually, he’s a ginger.” He commented taking a sit next to them.

“Really?” Bossuet smirked at the ginger.

“What? That… it can’t be, she—” he shook his head vehemently.

“Have you ever asked her? Because her boyfriend is right here—I mean, in the music room.”

“You just want to mess with us.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “No, Joly, I don’t want to mess with you. I actually just want you to be happy because I like fixing other people’s love life and I can’t fix my father’s. Who is it that you really like, Joly? Because there is no way you didn’t notice the person you like was dating someone. Especially since you thought she had a thing for someone else.”

Bossuet suddenly was paying more attention while Joly stuttered in a nervous attempt of denial, but the brunet could tell his job was done. He smirked and raised, ready to go back to the music room, and left the boys on their own. He figured Bossuet could handle this much.

He had just entered the house when the girls grabbed him and locked him in the library.

“Was that really necessary?” he cried, massaging his manhandled arms.

Cosette giggled. “No, but it was fun. Now sit.” They threw him over a chair. An awfully comfortable chair, but a chair, nevertheless, and he couldn’t suppress a shiver. He felt like he was in an interrogatory, and if Enjolras had seen him, he would’ve agreed. “What is the deal with you and Combeferre?”

“Me and… Combeferre?” He was blushing, he knew he was blushing.

Musichetta giggled. Damn those girls and their acute little laughs.

“Yes Courfeyrac; you and Combeferre. How long have you been dating?”

“What? We’re not, we’re not dating.”

The blonde raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t mind at all, but… but we’re not.”

“Why aren’t you?” Musichetta asked softly.

“Well, because… I don’t know. I like him, a lot. But I would never ruin our friendship over… well, for starters, you can never know with him. Half of the time I feel like he cares about me, like, _really_ cares about me, and then he’s almost as indifferent as Enjolras!”

“Mix signals, then? You’re unsure of his feelings?”

“Well, yeah, I guess you could say so.” The girls shared one meaningful glance and turned towards a second door, one that connected to a different room Courfeyrac hadn’t noticed.

“There you go,” they opened it and grabbed a very rigid, covered in adhesive tape (even his hair had tape, Courfeyrac didn’t think they were in their right minds at the time they did that, or maybe they were just plain evil. Both options sounded perfectly reasonable to him.), and looking panicked brunet. “You can now tell him, ‘Ferre, all those nice things you told us in the kitchen. You know, about Courf being an awesome guy who would treat anyone that way and obviously held no special feelings for you whatsoever.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “No special feelings? Are you kidding me? ‘Ferre, the things I could do to you if…”

“Alright, I’m going to stop you right there! First…” he looked around nervously, “there is people here who don’t need to hear that. Second, I’m covered in tape, I can’t really move by myself at all, and I don’t feel my right leg. Actually, I stopped feeling it a while ago.”

“Is there a third?”

“No.”

“Good.” Since Courfeyrac had no trouble moving, he crossed the distance between them and trapped the other’s lips in his own with an intensity that left no space for questions. The girls knew they should let them alone, and they were about to, when Combeferre shouted something intelligible that forced them to turn around in shock.

“No, no, no, you’re not flying the scene like that. You’ve got to help me get out of this tape first!”

“Hey guy, there you are!” Jehan cheered opening the door followed by the entire band with bored expressions. “We just finished another song and it sounds amazing, but we needed Combeferre for it to sound right and Courfeyrac, well, we needed you too, mostly because Combeferre is never there when you aren’t.”

“Why don’t we just watch a movie or something? There is more than enough room in the TV room.” Enjolras brushed his hair backwards and rolled his eyes at his sister’s beam, knowing that was exactly what she wanted. Practice was over anyway, so he figured he could indulge her with that.

“You have a TV in your bedroom.” Bahorel frowned.

“Yes, but the TV room is for when other people come home. It has more chairs, come on.” Enjolras stood up and didn’t wait for the rest of the band to express their opinions. Bahorel and Feuilly grabbed the cocoon that Combeferre had become, and soon after they gave Courfeyrac a couple of scissors and forgot about him.

By the time Jean arrived home, everybody was fast asleep, too tired from the drama to pay any attention to the movie.

‘ _You were right. The house is not on fire, and everybody seems to be okay_ ’ he texted the inspector.

‘ _Told you so_ ’ was his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any mistakes you may find. Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it!


	3. Tenth Grade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an excuse for the delay... only that real life has been a bitch and I wanted to give you something worth the wait, so I couldn't be satisfied with anything.  
> I'll be honest and confess that, even though I have a lot written already for the next chapter, I'm not sure when I'll be able to post it... -in fact, I'm writing this from chemistry, and I really should be paying atenttion since I'm worried I may fail and it's an important class and... damn, what was I thinking when I decided to become an engineer? Anyway... I won't make any promises, just... enjoy it when it comes!

After six months of having dinners every Friday and having lunch every Tuesday, they had reached that point in their relationship where every farewell became awkward with expectations. None of the middle-aged men had a clue on how exactly take the next step; Javert didn’t want to jump to conclusions, and senator Valjean hadn’t been on a date with anyone apart from his wife who had always been the one to make the first move. Anyone who heard how things finally started advancing wouldn’t believe it.

“It was nice…” the senator muttered while leaving the restaurant they frequented on Friday’s.

“Yes, it was.”

“Maybe we could…” he coughed. “Maybe…”

“Yes?”

“Well, I don’t know…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Go somewhere else? I just, I don’t want it to finish just yet.” Valjean was blushing as he said all this, but so was Javert, who could only nod in agreement.

They got into the senator’s car and went away without a place in mind, without talking or even look into each other’s eyes. Their hands, however, had met in silence; anxiety, anticipation and delight, all shared in that tiny contact.

They drove next to the ocean for what felt like hours until they parked outside a small cabin hidden in the woods near the beach. Even after the motor was silent, none of them said a word, and when finally the senator dared to open his mouth, the inspector snapped “Please don’t say anything” and kissed him passionately, deeply and desperately. They rushed inside the house in a feverish run, devouring each other’s mouths and undressing without really noticing. They played the game tenderly and maybe not as slowly as they should have, considering that one had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but somehow they managed to enjoy themselves for hours with little embarrassing moments. Later, lying in bed next to each other, they kept talking the way they did whenever they were together, of everything and anything. There were little things they didn’t know of the other now, but somehow they never ran out of things to talk about. Jean always had new ideas to improve the system, but usually he needed grounding, and Javert was happy to give him that. Dawn reached them and they still were discussing the suspects of a new case Javert was working on, and suddenly their phones announced them it was time for breakfast.

“I could stay here forever.” Valjean mumbled, stretching on the bed.

“Don’t you have kids to look after or something?” Javert snorted ineloquently.

“They are fifteen, and Toussaint is staying with them.”

“You had it all planed, huh?”

“Well, I… was hoping something might happen…” he confessed sheepishly.

Javert didn’t mind to hide his grin this time and turned on his side to face his partner. “Really?” he chuckled when Jean became even redder, and whispered in his ear: “Me too.”

He was not expecting to be pushed down into the mattress by the senator, but he quickly slid his arms around his neck and received his lips hungrily. Breakfast could wait, since nothing could be as nutritive and delicious as the man itself.

♫

After ten weeks, Javert was starting to think of that cabin as a second home, what with all the weekends they have stayed there, and never gave a second thought to the fact that he’d only been at Jean’s house once, ‘cause they hardly ever gone to his place anyway. Therefore, when he actually found himself waking up in Jean’s bedroom, in that house of the upper side of the city which he shared with his children, he was surprised of how happy that made him. Because it meant something, even if the kids weren’t at home at the moment.

_“Enjolras is at a seminary in D.C. and Cosette is staying at a friend’s house… would you like to stay the night at my house?” Valjean had asked without daring to look into Javert’s eyes._

_“I would like it very much” he had said without looking at him either, but taking his hand tightly._

That brought him to the senator’s kitchen that Saturday morning, making breakfast in sweatpants and one of Jean’s t-shirts that made him feel ridiculous, like a girl in love, but couldn’t help to notice and appreciate the familiar smell impregnated in the fabric that could make his heart beat faster.

“Good morning sir.” Javert jumped after hearing a girl’s voice coming from his back.

“Cosette? Good morning,” he coughed. “I thought you were at a friend’s house?”

“Yeah, I just got here. You stayed the night?” her grin was way too smug for a fifteen year old.

“I did,” he nodded.

“Good. It’s nice having you around, dad is happier.” She commented before trying a pancake.

Javert smiled awkwardly to her while cooking and was saved by some footsteps from the hall.

“Cosette?” Jean’s head peeped at the door.

“Hi daddy, Javert was making us breakfast. Have you taste his pancakes before? They’re awesome!”

He had, but he wouldn’t tell that to his daughter.

“It’s pretty early. Did you come home by yourself? I could’ve gone for you, you know.”

“I know, daddy, but this is on the way to her dad’s work, so he brought me out of kindness.” Javert raised one suspicious eyebrow.

“Oh, remind me to thank him later then.”

“Do you know that man, Jean?”

“No, but…”

“Where does he work, Cosette?”

She blinked, surprised. “I don’t know. Why?” Javert sighed and replied that it was nothing, but the senator frowned knowing that he was lying. The girl looked at them both before saying: “Okay… I’ll go and take a shower then, I’ll see you guys later.”

“Javert?”

“It’s just… your daughter is fifteen, Jean, and that guy could… I don’t know, you don’t know if he’s a psychopath or something, and she just got into a car alone with him on a Saturday at eight in the morning…” he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I’ve seen too many stories like that, I can’t help to worry.”

“And that’s good. I guess she and I can be a little careless sometimes, so I’m very lucky to have you around. I’ll tell her to call me next time, at least to warn me. Is that okay?”

“That is okay, of course.” He nodded looking uncomfortable for interfering in such domestic matters. The senator smiled fondly and slid his arms around the taller man’s waist.

“Okay. Thank you”

“Thanks for what? I know it isn’t really my place to…”

“It’s hard to do this on my own… hard, and lonely. And I know I can be naïve and I tend to think that everyone is well-intentioned, and that is why you’re so good to me. That is why I not only want you for myself, but as a part of my family too. I know it might be early for that, but… don’t ever think that you’re overstepping by giving your opinion, because I’m dating all of you, opinions included.”

Javert hated how the man was capable of making him fall harder every time he opened his mouth. He would feel like a fool at least once a day whenever they met, with an accelerated heartbeat and a blush fighting his way up his neck.

“Alright,” he cleared his throat. “I’ll make sure to always communicate my thoughts, then,” he nodded, and Valjean only gave him an even bigger smile. “And may I ask when is Enjolras returning? Since you weren’t certain about Cosette, and I’d rather avoid that situation to repeat itself with her twin.”

The senator chuckled. “Of course, it won’t happen again, I promise. Enjolras won’t be back until tomorrow around five, so you can relax for a few hours. You could even stay for lunch.”

The inspector nodded. “I would like that.”

♫

Cosette wasn’t as naïve as her father considered her. For starters, she had returned earlier today only to finally find proof of what was happening between the cute inspector and her father.

She couldn’t wait to tell someone, but even though she trusted Musichetta with most things, she knew this situation was a little bit more delicate than others. It wasn’t only her secret to keep, it wasn’t even only about her—well, technically it wasn’t about her at all, but if Feuilly found out, and she knew he would because her friend was lovely but couldn’t keep anything from her boyfriend, the rest of the band would know too, and they probably would know before Enjolras if she wasn’t cautious. She couldn’t just tell him at any minute. It had to be somewhere private, at some point where he wouldn’t face their father in a few hours at least. She loved her brother, but he could be a brute sometimes, and this kind of news would probably shock him more than they should.

She waited until everyone was in bed. Her father was probably sleeping, but her twin would be reading something about saving the world or maybe doing homework. She entered his room without knocking and before he could make an outraged remark she said: “Inspector Javert stayed the night last Friday.”

“What? Like, staying with…”

“Yeah,” she giggled and went to sit on his bed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that all those times daddy didn’t come home he was staying with him?”

“Well, I suspected it, but…” he blushed. “I don’t know, I guess I was hoping it wasn’t really like that… I thought I could deny it until dad said something about it, and he still hasn’t so…” he shrugged.

“I bet he is afraid you’ll react like this” she shook her head. “What’s the big deal?”

“It’s not, I just…” he shrugged again, even redder. “I guess I always assumed dad wouldn’t date anybody after mom, so…”

“En, that was ages ago!” she smacked his leg playfully with a fake scowl.

“I know! But he never did so…”

“Really? I always thought he’d end up with his secretary or something” she shrugged.

“Fantine?”

“What? I never wanted him to stay alone forever… I mean, what’ll happen to him after we go to college? He’d be all alone!”

“And what’s bad with that?”

“It’s sad” she grimaced.

“It’s not sad…”

“Yes it is. Besides, can you imagine him all by himself? We’re talking about the man that forgot to eat so many times that his secretary started to put it on his agenda.”

“Well… I guess I can see your point. Javert, though…”

“He makes him happy,” she shrugged and her brother sighed heavily.

“I guess he does, doesn’t he?”

She bit her lip worriedly. Maybe that hadn’t been the best way to tell him. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him at all, but she was so happy her father was finally making progress with this thing he had with the cute inspector, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Besides, her bother shouldn’t try to block the sun with his thumb, it wasn’t healthy. She awkwardly stood up and left with a wave of her hand, without even wishing him nice dreams. She was almost certain he wouldn’t have any.

♫

Monday mornings in schools were usually a depressing view. Nobody older than ten could possibly enjoy going to school, not even for the ‘seeing your friends’ part. However, there were always a few exceptions, people who would always be smiling mostly because it was on their nature, or people who would always be scowling… because it was on their nature too. Everyone agreed that Enjolras belonged in that category, but this Monday morning he wasn’t with a strict face. He actually resembled any other sad student, and that was so wrong it was almost terrifying.

“Hey” Jehan whispered to Courfeyrac after their third period. “What is it with En today? He looks like shit.”

“I know, right? I have no idea though, I told ‘Ferre the same thing and he told me to forget about it.”

“Exactly, so why are you talking about it?” the boy with the glasses snapped.

“Because Jehan and I are worried about him, he’s our boy, okay?”

“And he is fine… I asked Cosette this morning and she laughed and said it was nothing, and I believe her.”

“What do you believe?” the blond boy in question asked looking like a cadaver.

“That… the new song is—”

“That you look like shit,” Courfeyrac interrupted Combeferre.

“That I…?” he sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand, looking away. “It’s nothing really, I mean, it’s actually plain stupid.”

“But something happened,” the poet accused.

“Well… no, not really, I mean, not to me at least. I mean, is really none of my business but…”

“Enjolras, what happened?” Combeferre inquired deadly serious.

“Is just… I just realized my dad is really serious about this guy that I don’t really like? That’s all.”

“So your dad has a boyfriend?” Courfeyrac stated and the blond nodded. “And you don’t like him?” another nod. “Wow that is so…” the boy took a pause for air and brought a hand to his chest, wide-eyed, “wow, this is… too much. I mean, is way too normal, isn’t it? I mean, when you are worried one thinks that it must be a war, or a person died on his cell out of negligence or someone’s rights are being ignored, I don’t know, something like that, not that… I don’t know!” he chuckled, and the other two quickly followed him. “Not this! Not your dad’s boyfriend!”

“What is the deal with him anyway?” Jehan snorted. “He doesn’t recycle or something?”

“Hey, that is a serious issue, and it says a lot about a person,” Enjolras frowned. “But I don’t really know, I mean, I’ve hardly ever talk to the guy, but I guess I didn’t met him in the best circumstances.”

“Please tell me he was making out with your dad. That’s how I met my stepmother.” Courfeyrac giggled.

“No, of course not, I’ve never…” he blushed and shook his head. “No, he arrested me.”

“He is a cop?” Combeferre arched his eyebrows and shared a look with the others.

“Yeah, it was damn too normal to be Enjolras. Of course his father’s boyfriend arrested him!” Jehan commented.

“This is still way too normal for him, alright? I believe this is the first time I’ve heard him saying something a person our age would normally say,” Courfeyrac assured. Enjolras rolled his eyes and gave them a weak smile.

“So he arrested you, but he still likes your dad, right? And your dad still supports you and everything, right?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I mean, I’m not even sure how long they’ve been talking, alright? But last Friday… he stayed at home, so I can’t ignore it anymore, that’s all, because my dad hasn’t actually said anything at all! And that’s what pisses me off, and Cosette saying how he is so much happier and how Javert’s pancakes are delicious, and I only can think of how my dad waited until the house was empty to invite him, is just so fucking weird!”

“Oh my…” Combeferre muttered with wide eyes.

“That’s it! The world is officially ending!” Courfeyrac raised his hands in surrender.

“Enjolras, did you just _swear_?” Jehan questioned in awe.

“And I can’t believe your dad waited until you both were out to hook up, he is fucking adorable!” Courfeyrac shouted.

“He really is,” the poet nodded with a beam.

Enjolras buried his face in his hands. “Am I being unfair to him? I really want him to be happy, I really do, but… is it selfish to think that I could know better? I mean, to be honest I have no idea what he’s doing with that guy…”

“You said you hardly know him.”

“That is correct, but the man is a cop!”

“What do you always say about prejudice?”

“Who’d want to be a cop anyway? Would any of you become one, for real?”

“Well, no, but…”

“He still could be a good person,” the responsible brunet said rationally.

“I guess he could, but my dad always thinks the best of everyone and, I don’t know! The man was so rude when I met him, to my dad I mean.”

“Something must have change,” Jehan muttered.

“That, or maybe my dad is into it, who knows! I mean, I know we’ve never actually talked about it, but…we’ve never actually talked about it! I never thought that I would care, and I certainly don’t want to have that conversation but honestly, has he been into guys all this time? I’m freaking out!”

“We can see that,” Courfeyrac chuckled.

“Okay, breathe with me, c’mon,” Combeferre squeezed his arm soothingly.

“Perhaps you’re being a little selfish,” Jehan said, “but you’re a teenager, and you’re supposed to be selfish, not the committed, responsible, conscious person you are all the time, so I guess it’s okay that you feel like this for once… I’m sure your dad will understand if you talk to him.”

“And that surely will be the best for both of you.”

Enjolras sighed. “I know, but… even though I know that he knows that I know, he hasn’t spoken a word about it!”

“He’s probably waiting for you to take the first step.”

“But I’m the teenager! He is my father; he should come and talk to me about the changes he is imposing in my life, right?”

“Well…”

“And what changes are you talking about, En? The man waited for you to go to D.C. to bring his boyfriend to his house, I believe he’s been taking all the precautions he can to avoid that your lives change at all, at least for now, right?”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” he grimaced. “Am I a terrible son?”

“Besides the fact that you’ve been arrested already, I believe you’re pretty good. I mean, considering that you still aren’t old enough to drive and everything…”

“I agree. You are an example for anyone, En, seriously.” Combeferre said.

The blond groaned. He knew his friends were right, they always were—well, except for Courfeyrac, but in these matters he usually was. He knew he had to listen. He knew what he had to do. That didn’t make it any easier when he finally stood in front of his father that afternoon and declared with what had wanted to be a steady, serious voice but ended up being a high-pitched weak question: “Dad… Cosette told me that Javert stayed here the other night?”

“Yeah, he did, I… I thought he could come over since you both were staying out and…”

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain it, I mean…” Enjolras rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Are you two dating? I just… you never said anything, so…”

Valjean stared at him with wide eyes and nervously cleared his throat before saying: “Well, yes, I guess you could say that”

The teenager took a deep breath and smiled sheepishly. “Oh, that’s… good, I think. I mean, I don’t really know him, but…”

“I guess you’re right. Should I invite him for dinner this Sunday?”

“What?”

“I mean, Cosette already met him, but the only time you saw him was at the station and it wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us. What do you think? I won’t do it if you’re uncomfortable with the idea, of course.”

“No, no, I think that’s a great idea!”

“Good,” his father gave him a huge grin and went back to reading his papers, so the blond abandoned the room with a lump in his throat and numbly locked himself in his bedroom and opened Skype.

“Hello,” Feuilly was the first to answer.

“Well, look at that! If it isn’t our lovely lead singer!” Courfeyrac followed, and gestured to Combeferre, who was sitting next to him, to get closer.

“Why am I in this conversation,” Éponine frowned.

“Because you’re a part of the band,” Jehan smiled softly. He was the only one besides the two of them that knew that things between the bass player and the PR were tense, and was trying very hard to make everything lighter.

“And you aren’t, and yet here you are,” the brunette, however, didn’t appreciate his efforts as much as one would think she would.

“Don’t be rude, ‘Nine,” Bahorel said.

“Guys, guys, hang on a second. Enjolras, are you okay? Why’d you call? Did something happen?” Combeferre muttered concerned, and quickly the whole group was staring at the blond that was gaping like a fish.

“I… talked to my dad.”

“And?”

“And apparently we’re having dinner with Javert this Sunday.”

“Why should I care?”

“’Nine, seriously, shut up,” the drummer rumbled. “However did that happen?”

“I don’t know, it just… happened. I asked him if they were dating and he said yes… he asked me what I thought about it and I told him I didn’t really know the guy so he’s inviting him for dinner this Sunday so I can meet him,” he buried his face in his hands and groaned. “But I don’t _want_ to meet him.”

“Wait, so this is about your dad’s boyfriend?”

“C’mon Éponine, stop interrupting.”

“Guys, she has no idea what’s going on, she wasn’t there when Enjolras told us, remember?” the brunet with the glasses said logically.

“He was the guy your dad asked for help when my brother was missing, wasn’t he?”

Everybody remained silent after her statement, even Bahorel, who didn’t feel like asking her to shut up anymore.

“You never mentioned that, En.” Combeferre muttered.

“I guess I forgot that detail. I didn’t actually see him that day so I…”

“That still turns him like automatically into a good guy, dude.”

“You weren’t there when I met him, okay? The guy was a complete douchebag, and he clearly disliked my father back then.”

“Well, obviously they’ve come a long way after that” the girl shrugged. “I mean, your father did ask him for help, maybe that changed something, or maybe it had already changed, and that’s why he went and asked him for help. Whatever it was, the guy is reliable. He is a little stoic, but… well; he is actually kind of hot. And your dad is hot too, so they’re good for each other.”

“Based on their looks?” the blond frowned and the Thénadier rolled her eyes.

“Dude, give your dad some credit, he is a politician after all, he must know how to read people.”

“He doesn’t. He’s terrible at that, that’s why I’m worried.”

“Well, then you definitely need to have dinner with this guy and make sure he is not a bastard and your dad is not making a mistake. Don’t get worried and make such a scandal if you’re not going to do something about it.”

Enjolras sighed. “I guess you’re right. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she grinned. “Besides they make a totally hot couple, the media will love them if they do it public. Actually, I could interview them and sell it to some magazine. Could you ask your dad for me?”

“What? No.”

“Oh, come on!”

The blond stared at her with wide eyes and finally hung up on all of them and closed his laptop. He had to accept that the advice she had given him earlier was a good one, even though he’d need to erase the last statement from his mind somehow. The last thing he wanted to think about was how _good_ they looked together and the word _hot_ connected to his _dad_ was just plain weird.

♫

The rest of the week went by with him feeling as numb as that night, and though at first he had been ignored, by Thursday his friends were starting to get tired of it.

“Let’s make a video!” Courfeyrac shouted at a disproportionate volume, standing on his sit in the music room where everybody was either reading or texting or doing something equally unproductive and quiet.

“What?”

“A promotional video, come on! Don’t you want more people to hear our songs, En? I’ll edit it; all you have to do is perform in front of the camera and maybe a few people, depending on the location we choose. What do you guys think?”

“I think it actually sounds like a good idea,” Feuilly nodded with a pleased smile, closing Facebook and leaving his phone on the table.

“As long as we look hot, I’m in,” Bahorel commented without tearing his eyes off his phone.

“What are you doing, ‘Rel?”

“I’m checking our Instagram. We have some attractive followers here…”

“Dude, no,” the ginger buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“How about we go check on it right now? We don’t have any more classes today, do we?”

“Where do you want to go?” Combeferre asked.

“I’ll call Éponine,” Jehan said.

“Oh, right, ask her if she can meet us at the forest?”

“The forest?” the singer frowned.

“Why the hell do you want to go to the forest?” Bahorel asked.

“Everything will make sense when we get there. Come on, hurry up, call her!”

The poet smiled awkwardly and said she’d meet them there, and the PR didn’t notice a thing. This time they could take the metro, so he could only hope the weird texts weren’t a sign of something too bad. He texted her again though, trying not to show his frustration for not being able to call her.

‘Is everything alright?’ he sent.

‘ _Yeah, I just,_ ’

She apparently wrote and rewrote whatever she wanted to say. He sighed, waiting she would only tell him the truth.

‘ _Why the fuck do we have to go to the forest?_ ’

Honestly, things weren’t exactly different between Courfeyrac and Combeferre. They already had shown how deeply they cared for each other in the past, and were normally together all the time, with private jokes and mute conversations only they understood. So now that they were dating, things were basically the same, but with sex. And since they weren’t having sex in school, the only times where people would stop and think ‘ _right, they’re dating now_ ’ were whenever they said hello or goodbye and then would kiss. Only then, things were actually different.

But to Éponine it was different all the time.

She had always known, just like anyone with eyes, that they’d end up together and yet she was hurting nonetheless. It was stupid, she would tell herself every day, but couldn’t stop from pinning over the boy with the cheerful eyes and wicked smile. He had been the first one in a long time to make her smile, and that simply meant too much. But she wouldn’t show how much she was hurting, she couldn’t because Courfeyrac was her friend, and she was supposed to be happy for him. And to see him happy actually warmed her heart, but only for a couple of minutes. For a couple of minutes she could pretend the reason of his laugh was not her broken heart.

For a couple of minutes, she could pretend she was happy too.

They met her at the picnic tables that were right outside the national park that so conveniently was adjoined to their city. She had her bass next to her and wore a face that showed exactly how happy she was to be here in the middle of the day for no reason, which was, not very.

“I really think this is a terrible idea,” Joly said anxiously. “What are we even doing here? We’re not even in the band!”

“We’ve gone through that conversation way too many times,” Feuilly retorted, “we are not doing it again.”

“Yeah, besides this is fun, Joly, don’t be silly!” Musichetta giggled.

“This actually sounds very funny to me,” Bossuet shrugged. “I want to help. Besides, I’m a fan. It’s going to be awesome to say that I helped with your first video.”

“Well, technically this would be the second,” Courfeyrac noted.

“Yeah, but the first one only had footage from your first concert. It’s awesome, but this one will be a completely different thing, it will be important,” the boy insisted vehemently.

“You’re right,” the PR nodded. “This will be important. Good thing you brought your bass, ‘Nine! That way maybe we could get ahead of ourselves a little today. Let me tell you what I had in mind…”

…

“I’m not going to do that,” Enjolras stated coldly.

“Oh, come on, it’s not hard!”

“It doesn’t make sense! Why would we be singing in the middle of the woods? I don’t get it!”

“It doesn’t have to make sense, En, it’s… symbolic, it’s a metaphor! Don’t take it all so literally!” Courfeyrac argued.

“Really? What does it mean?” the singer crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. The PR only stuttered. “See? It doesn’t mean anything! You just want to record outside because that’s what others do.”

“How dare you?!” Courfeyrac gasped.

“Hey, guys? I got a call from Gavroche, he says that he has a super location for us,” Éponine commented. “I really think we should check on it, it has more… character. And it could be related to what we’re singing about.”

This picked the interest of the rest of the band, who had been playing with their phones and chatting while the singer argued with their PR.

“Where is it?” Bahorel asked, hunching slightly towards the girl and tilting his head to the right.

“I don’t know. He gave me some directions, let’s go.”

The location Gavroche had for them wasn’t far, and they walked while talking nonsense for a few minutes until they met the boy outside something that looked like an abandoned station.

“You like it? They closed this after they built the new line, where the train never leaves town, which is way more practical and fast, but they never did anything with this station, and it’s pretty easy to get in if you know what I know. What do you think?”

“This place rocks, Gavroche! How did you find it?”

“I have my methods,” the boy smirked. “So, you’ll film here? Can I stay?”

“Of course you can, you brought us here,” Combeferre said. “We still don’t know what we’re doing, though.”

“Yes we do!” Courfeyrac argued. “First we got to install the instruments, come on, help me.”

The boy with the glasses rolled his eyes, but complied.

…

“You want me to run,” the girl said, “through the hall… screaming?”

“No, not screaming, just… scared. Well, no, not scared, but… distressed.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only girl,” Courfeyrac shrugged. “Most bands would hire a model, but we have you, you’re pretty enough. Come on, say you’ll do it.”

That was probably what made her snap, that he would say she was ‘pretty enough’. She could act like nothing else mattered, but the fact that he considered her pretty enough to be a model but he still wouldn’t like her, not the way he liked Combeferre at least, was more than she could handle. She wasn’t going to cry. She would never cry in front of Courfeyrac, bur she wouldn’t do everything he wanted either.

“Fuck you, Courf,” she barked and left the abandoned building at a hurried pace. She wasn’t running. She just needed to get out of there before the boy could try to stop her, or worse, before she started crying. She only stopped to take the bus, which miraculously was just passing by, and sighed, relieved for a few seconds until the damned thing stopped again to take another passenger who sat next to her with a sheepish smile.

“I can’t believe you actually left,” he commented.

“Yes, because I needed to get away from you, and look! It didn’t work.”

“Of course it didn’t. I can be a real pain in the ass when I want to, did no one tell you? Now… why don’t you start talking? We bought ourselves indefinite time in this thing, right?”

“Yes, Courf, that’s how busses work. What do you want me to tell you anyway? I’m mad at you.”

“Yes, and I would like to know why,” he nodded and stared at her with attention.

She chuckled humorlessly. “Look, there really isn’t anything to tell, alright? You didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t have to apologize, I’m just… mad. Because I’m stupid, so really, there is nothing you should listen or know, and I certainly don’t owe you anything so I have no reason to explain myself.”

“Except, perhaps, the fact that we are friends and I’m asking you a question that involves our friendship.”

“No, Courfeyrac, I don’t think… we’re not friends, okay?”

The boy frowned. “What do you mean we’re not friends? We’re best friends! We’ve been since last year!”

She shook her head. “No, no, I… I can’t be your friend any longer, Courf, because I… I got feelings for you and I hate seeing you with Combeferre and I just—” she groaned, “I can’t do this, okay? I don’t want to make you feel bad, even though you’re breaking my heart every single day, and I… damn it, Courf! Why would you want to hear this?”

“Because I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed softly. “Did I already lose you, ‘Nine? Is there a way I can get my friend back?”

She chuckled humorlessly and grimaced. “You’re an idiot. I swear I don’t believe you sometimes, you shouldn’t be able to get everything you want so easily.”

“So… we’re friends again?” Courfeyrac asked and the girl rolled her eyes.

“We never stopped being friends.”

“We did though, you were… hurt. I never meant to hurt you…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Courf, I know you meant no harm… I always did, and still I… I don’t know what came to me, I always knew that you had a thing for ‘Ferre and yet…”

“Hey,” the boy slid an arm over her shoulders and held her closer. “Even though I never noticed, I made you believe that, okay? It wasn’t on purpose, but the way you felt… it wasn’t your fault, it was nobody’s fault that I am so naturally charming and irresistible.”

“And here I was thinking you were being _nice,_ ” she rolled her eyes.

“I am always nice.”

“No, but that’s one of the things I like about you, that you can be a total dickhead without even noticing.”

“I am strangely flattered.”

“You should, I just gave you an awesome compliment.”

“Yeah you did, didn’t you?” they laughed together the way they used to, and it felt right. “Alright, maybe we should get down this thing? I don’t know you, but I have no idea where we are.”

The girl looked outside the window hoping she would recognize something, but her mind was in blank. “Holy fuck… we’re lost. I can’t believe you got me lost, Courf!”

“How is this my fault? Maybe we should just stay until it goes back… because it will, it will go back, right?”

“I have no idea! I’ve never taken this bus before!”

“Oh dear, we’re going to die. We’re going to die and no one will ever find us!”

The girl wanted to tell him there was no reason to be so dramatic but was panicking a little nonetheless, so she just smacked him in the arm and managed to get him quiet until she recognized—or thought to recognize—a little restaurant that wasn’t far from the docks. In the end it wasn’t a restaurant at all, but a laundry place, though it was near the docks after all. When they finally returned to the abandoned train station, the band had already—obviously—left, but the situation was so ridiculous they weren’t even mad, and burst out laughing.

“I’m still going to kill them next time I see them,” she assured.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll help you!”

The smile Courfeyrac gave her still was able to warm her, and maybe she stopped to look at the wrinkles of his eyes a little too long, but she had no doubt that rehearsals wouldn’t be so painful from now on. She still loved him, and thought that she probably always would, but that certainty didn’t hurt so much anymore, and that, that made her sincerely happy.

♫

On Sunday, Enjolras was on edge. He woke up at four in the morning and showered twice, decided to skip breakfast fearing his stomach couldn’t hold it, and didn’t utter a word at lunch. His family knew him well enough to not say anything about it. In fact, his sister seemed to be enjoying the food more than usual, being able to talk endlessly since their father was often quiet. He finally talked—well, he rather yelled—in the afternoon when he found his sister in the kitchen.

“Cosette? What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing, dummy? I’m cooking. Javert is coming tonight, remember?”

“Yeah, I do, but…” he sighed and brushed his hair backwards. “Why are you making your special risotto? He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Shut up, of course he does. Besides, this isn’t about him eating something delicious, but about not embarrassing myself. He’s a very good cook!”

“I don’t care if he is, Cos, and neither should you.”

“He is not the enemy silly.”

“I don’t know about that,”

She groaned. “This is not going to be easy, am I right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah you do, you’re just too coward to have this conversation with me. Don’t go! We are still having it.”

“Cosette…”

“Stop being an idiot and stand here.”

“What?”

“Here, where I am standing, come on.”

The boy frowned, but did as he was told.

“Now look at him. Do you see father over there? Look at his face, look at his hands! He’s so relaxed and happy…”

“He’s periodically getting laid now, and I really don’t want to think about that.”

She smacked him in the arm. “Don’t be stupid, it’s not only that, he’s got more confidence now! He’s so excited about tonight, En, don’t ruin it. Don’t do it if you know what’s good for you,” she warned with a long index finger pointed at him.

The boy gulped and went to his place in the table, staying there numbly until it was time for dinner. He scarcely heard his father opening the door for the man, and only interrupted his thoughts when he had him sitting in front of him, clearing his throat.

“It’s good to see you, Enjolras,” Javert enunciated sternly.

The boy nodded trying to look more uninterested than angry. It didn’t work that well, but the inspector wisely decided not to comment on it.

“Javert! I hope you like what I did. I used to be quite confident of my cooking skills, but I got to admit it’s nothing like yours. Hopefully you could teach me someday.”

Javert cleared his throat. “I would love to, but I have to warn you I’m a strict teacher.”

The girl giggled. “Oh, believe me, that does not surprise me, but I’m a good student. I think I’ll be able to handle the pressure.”

He nodded. “Very well, then.”

Enjolras considered the whole exchange infuriating, but after taking one look at his father’s soft smile he decided that maybe for once, speaking his mind wasn’t the right thing to do. In fact, the only times he spoke at all were to comment on the food and to answer questions that were directed to him, such as ‘ _When is your next concert_ ’ or ‘ _How’s school going?_ ’, and though it was odd, he didn’t feel that awkward.

“That… was better than what I expected,” Jean confessed with a sheepish smile later that night, in the intimacy of his office.

“Really?” the inspector exclaimed with raised eyebrows.

“You thought I was exaggerating?”

“Considering that I already arrested the boy last year, I guess I should’ve listened to you. It was probably Cosette’s fault; she’s such a good girl and it’s so… happy for us that I wasn’t expecting he’d be so… blatantly against it.”

“Oh, believe me, that was not him being blatant.”

“I think I’m starting to believe you,” Javert admitted, licked his lips and sighed. “So you’re saying that we can consider this a victory, then?”

“I’m saying,” the senator stood and took the inspector’s face in his hands, “that Enjolras is actually doing an effort to get to know you even though he honestly doesn’t want to. Yes, I think we can consider this a victory, and I think you passed whatever test you had to pass tonight,” he declared with a tender smile before kissing him softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Eleventh Grade – One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally longer but once I was satisfied with the last scene I noticed it was my favorite closure for it. I’ll try to get the next one soon though, so don’t worry! Also, this chapter actually contains what I first wrote after I came up with this story!   
> PD: If at some point you feel like there’s something missing, tell me about it in the comments! There are a few scenes I’ve written and later decided didn't exactly fit anywhere so I'm turning them into One-shots I will eventually post too—hopefully soon! So if there’s anything you’re curious about, just ask!  
> And now, enjoy!

By the time they were juniors in High School they had become some kind of local celebrities, and Courfeyrac had already talked to a couple of radios and convinced everybody to save some money so they could hire a very good director and make a more professional video hence they could earn more subscribers on YouTube. To be paid for the publicity was out of the question though, as their lead singer had said when they reached over a thousand views on the video of their first presentation, and they never talked about it again, even though Jehan and Bahorel had agreed with Courfeyrac about it being a good idea.

“So I was thinking… the woods, Bahorel playing at the top of a tree…”

“Courf, we’re getting a director, not a miracle,” Feuilly chuckled.

“Oh, c’mon… it doesn’t have to be over an actual tree…”

“Why would he be over a tree anyway?” Enjolras frowned.

“Because it’s cool,” the PR shrugged. After the fiasco of last year, he had learned that the best way to get what he wanted with the blond was to be brutally honest.

Combeferre snorted and Bahorel burst out laughing, Feuilly shook his head which gained him a slap in his forehead from Éponine who was trying to braid his hair and wasn’t really paying any attention to them, and Enjolras sighed heavily.

“Isn’t the video supposed to represent what we’re singing about?”

“Yeah, and you know, global warming, ecology, recycling, I don’t know! Can’t you imagine how awesome ‘Rel would look playing at the top of a… lonely tree in the middle of nowhere? It would mean we are against deforestation?” Courfeyrac insisted sliding an arm over the leader’s shoulders.

“That could be nice, we’d be all over the tree at first, a very green, big tree, and suddenly the camera shows the rest of the panorama and the place sucks, you know? It could be next to a factory…” Éponine commented tossing of the ginger’s hair.

“Or a residential area,” Jehan said.

“That sounds actually pretty good,” Combeferre nodded with both of his eyebrows over his hairline.

“Except that we don’t have a song about deforestation,” Enjolras stated.

“But we could have one, you should totally write one!”

“Don’t you have a class to get to?”

“Shit!” the boy brought his hands to his hair in despair, took his messenger bag and ran away without another word for his friends. He was already late and had to cross the entire building still, but Courfeyrac was an optimistic guy and gave his everything to get to class, without stopping a second to think of his math teacher’s reputation.

“You’re late,” the teacher didn’t even look at him.

“But miss—” the brunet gave her his best dejected face but the woman showed no mercy.

“You’ll be able to get in once you have your ticket with you.”

Courfeyrac may have been a rebel, but he wasn’t stupid, and he knew how to pic his battles. So he gave her a sheepish smile, hunched his shoulders, and turned around in direction to the principal’s office.

In the waiting room he found what one would expect to find outside the principal’s office. There was the boy with dark clothes and makeup, the girl with piercings and dyed hair, the guy with glasses from the student’s council talking to the secretary like they were old friends, and the new kid, just walking out of his office with the man itself.

“Ah, Mr. Courfeyrac!” the man grinned. “You’re just the man I wanted to see. Here, Mister Marius Pontmercy is a new student. Can I trust that you will be helping him, would he need anything?”

“Of course, sir! Do you need me to start right now, or…?”

“You were late to class, I assume.”

“Yes,” he smiled sheepishly. “So, Marius, are you new in town as well?”

The boy nodded with an awkward smile. “Yes, hi, I uh, I would hate to keep you away from class—”

“Oh please! I’d rather show you around a thousand times before going back to math with Professor Spielberg. Come on, ask me anything you want, I’m all ears.”

“Uh, well, I don’t have that many doubts… eh, is there a music club?”

“Yes, there is! In fact, I’m part of it. Well, not really, I don’t play any music—well, we don’t really play music most of the time, we rehearse at my place or Enjolras’, our lead singer. You see, all the members of the music club are part of a band—”

“Les Amis de l’ABC, isn’t it? I’ve heard a couple of songs in YouTube,” he smiled a little more openly now. “I play the guitar, and I like watching bands like yours, starting from nothing and trying to send a message.”

“Really? And did you like what they sang about?” the brunet smirked, and when the boy nodded eagerly he added: “Why don’t you come see them play this Friday at the festival? Maybe you could even join them with your guitar, it could be fun.”

Marius grimaced. “I don’t know…”

“It’ll be fun! I swear they’re good, I’m not saying it just because I’m their PR.”

“You just made it more suspicious, I don’t doubt about their talent, but… I’m not used to playing in public, and I don’t think playing next to people who are is such a good idea.”

“I think it is, but if you really don’t want to then go on the stage alone. They’ll let you if we say so. Sing one song or don’t sing anything at all,” he shrugged, “but come to the festival. It’ll be good to meet people. And if you have time right now, come to the music club, that’s where we meet.”

“I do have time right now.”

“Good,” the brunette smirked. “Follow me then,” he winked, and led the way back to the room where most members of the band spent their free period. “Well hello everybody! I came back with a fan!”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you in class, Courf?” Combeferre inquired with an arched eyebrow.

“Spielberg kicked me out, and the principal asked me to help the new kid. Gentlemen, this is Marius Pontmercy and he plays the guitar!”

“Hi Marius,” Bahorel answered on autopilot.

“I thought there was a girl in your band?” the new kid asked.

“Yeah, but this is the music club, not our band’s rehearsal” Feuilly said.

“She doesn’t go to our school” Combeferre explained.

“But she will be at the festival,” the PR wiggled his eyebrows at the boy, who then chuckled and sighed in obvious surrender.

“If I tell you I’ll go, will you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Doing that, making that face,” the boy laughed out loud and shook his head. “I’ll go, I’ll go!”

“Very well! And you’ll sing too, won’t you?”

“What?” his face fell. “I don’t know, I’m not really a singer, I—”

“Oh, please, say that you will!”

Marius found himself questioning if the mortified expression he got to wear for the rest of the day—and the rest of the week—would eventually become his resting face, but once the band started playing he finally relaxed. The truth was that Courfeyrac had been right; he was indeed a big fan, and had freaked out for at least an hour after his grandfather told him he’d be attending their school. If he had felt intimidated at some point by their PR, listening to their songs from backstage covered it. And even though he knew he would have to sing once they were done, he felt more enthusiastic than panicked.

They sang two more songs after the public called them back, and finally left the stage looking exhausted but happy.

“Hi, I’m Éponine,” the bass player introduced herself with a nervous smile. She had been late, almost didn’t make it for the first song, and therefore had no time for introductions, but the guys had filled her in in between songs.

“Hello, you were pretty good back there,” Marius smiled sincerely. He had planned to tell more, but Courfeyrac was talking on the stage, and that was all he had ears for:

“Now, we’ll be happy to introduce to you all a new member of our community who wants to sing something for us on his first time visiting us. Pretty brave, isn’t he? Please welcome Marius Pontmercy!”

“I believe that’s my cue,” he winked to the girl and walked to the stage with his guitar firmly in his hand. He wasn’t nervous, not really, but excited. He had to admit that at first the idea hadn’t sound appealing at all, but once he started rehearsing with everyone that week, and after the guys performed to an extremely motivated crowd, all he could think of was how he should’ve prepared something a little bit less depressing.

So when the lights went off and on again, he centered all his attention on his guitar for the first four or six seconds, and only allowed himself to tear his eyes away to see how the public was receiving his voice and song choice. He thought he was doing well, and tried to go back to his guitar and the song when suddenly he could no longer breathe.

There was a girl in the audience that was not like the others. Physically she was gorgeous, but that was not _it_. There was something about her eyes, about the way she was staring at him that felt like she was really _seeing him_ , not just _looking,_ that let his body tingling and his head dizzy. So he sang only for her, and before he noticed it the song was over and she was gone.

“Marius, you were great!” Courfeyrac clapped his shoulder the minute he got down the stage.

“Yeah, I…” he kept looking, but couldn’t find her. Did she go to school with him? How could it be the first time he ever saw her?

“Hey, did you lose something?” the brunet was looking at him suspiciously, but kept his thoughts to himself.

“Is just that… nothing, it’s nothing, really.”

“Sure… anyway, guys! Over here!” most of the music club joined them. “I believe this deserves a celebration, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely!”

“Have a good time, everybody, but I won’t be coming with you tonight. I’m taking Cosette home, so…” Enjolras informed with a shrug.

“Why doesn’t she come with us?” Éponine proposed.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Courfeyrac said, giving Marius a strange look.

However, the young boy was not paying attention until said sister appeared. Of course that his angel was related to Enjolras, it couldn’t have been differently. Genes be damned.

“Hi,” the blonde smiled to him.

“Oh, hi,” Marius muttered nervously.

“You were pretty great back there… are you new? I’ve never seen you before.”

“No, I mean yes, I am, I am new… in school, in town too, I come from P.”

“Oh, welcome to M, then”

“Thank you.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a while that seemed to last forever for everyone around them, but they were comfortable in their own world.

“I’m Marius, by the way.”

“Yeah, I remember from when you sang,” the blonde bit her bottom lip. “I’m Cosette.”

“Cosette, what a beautiful name,” he declared.

“Do you honestly think so?” she bit her bottom lip and looked away.

Éponine wanted to shoot herself. Was it her karma or something? Would she always fall for guys who would be utterly and madly in love with someone else?

They were having a late lunch at McDonald’s when they offered Marius to join the band and he declined politely, arguing how he had too little time for Drama Club.

“You got into Drama Club? Why would you do that?” Bossuet asked without really thinking. Joly turned to him looking worried. He had smashed his head against a wall earlier; perhaps it had left a concussion?

“Well, I…” Marius stuttered praying for the lead singer hadn’t listened.

“Drama club?” the blond inquired closing his book. Marius probably stopped breathing as well when he discovered his pray was not heard. “They’re making _The_ _Sound_ _of_ _Music_ this season, aren’t they?”

Courfeyrac shared a smile with Jehan and an incredulous look.

“Yes, they are.”

“Yeah, Cosette is Maria. What are you playing?”

“I still don’t know, but she says—” he stopped, panicking. Did he say too much? But the blond looked at him quizzically and asked: “What did she say?”

“She thinks… that I should play Von Trapp.”

“Huh. That means you’re good. She takes theater very seriously.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Courfeyrac chuckled, amazed as everybody else.

“It means that is not about her wanting to dance with him or anything,” he explained to Courfeyrac. “She must really think you’re talented enough,” he spoke to Marius. “That’s good.”

“You’re okay with this?” Combeferre asked narrowing his eyes.

“What with…?” Enjolras frowned.

“With them being… a thing,” Courfeyrac mumbled with big concerned eyes, the rest of the group going from Enjolras to Marius.

“I already had this conversation with her,” he shrugged. “And I’m not allowed to give my opinion in the matter. Not that I had one anyway.”

“She told you not to say anything?” Éponine chuckled and Enjolras nodded while eating his fries.

“She was very specific, but I rather not giving any details that might scare him off,” he pointed towards Marius with his head.

And just like that, the boy seemed to relax considerably and the conversation moved towards intimidating siblings and other ridiculous things, with Courfeyrac retelling an absurd story that Combeferre assured was true, which involved glitter, an old lady and an alpaca. Marius agreed to meet them again the next day.

The drummer had to decline, though, for he had an optative class—that hadn’t been that optative in the end—and he couldn’t make it in time. Feuilly was the only one that gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on his shoulder, while the rest simply ignored his whining. That didn’t stop him from complaining the rest day in class too.

“To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Bahorel moped.

“You are here because you called _noise_ the music you were supposed to learn, and got kicked out of the class. You’re lucky it was optative, and this is the alternative,” a brunet boy who was painting next to him explained.

“Well, thank you for the reminder, but I didn’t really need it. That professor was overreacting, I mean, it was like, what?  The second class? I mean, aren’t you supposed to learn how to play there? He just gave me a paper and intended that I would appear a week later playing it perfectly.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that was what he was expecting, but whatever, you are stuck with art.”

“And why are you here?” the drummer turned his chair towards the other kid.

“Me? I like art,” the brunet shrugged.

“Yeah, and you are good too,” he appreciated, studying the boy’s work. “I mean, I like art, but you… you are an artist. They are different things.”

“Okay, sure, I’m an artist, whatever,” he rolled his eyes. “The teacher is not expecting anything spectacular, so just draw a couple of lines and say is abstract and get out of here if you are so bored.”

“Or,” he extended the sound for at least five seconds and raised his index finger, “I could talk with you.”

“No, that is not an option,” the boy deadpanned.

“Why not? I know you, you take the bus at the same stop that I do, and we’re on the same class, let’s be friends.”

“You don’t know my name.”

“Then _tell_ me your name. I’m Bahorel.”

“I’m Grantaire, and of course I know who you are. Aren’t you in the music club?”

“I am, yeah. I play the drums, but the teacher wouldn’t let me play that at class. Can you believe it?”

Grantaire felt the urge to ask about that Greek god they had as lead singer, but bit his tongue instead, because this guy could actually go and tell him that he was making questions about him and then he would not only be hard to get but absolutely unreachable.

“So…” Bahorel cleared his throat after realizing he wouldn’t obtain an answer. “You ever considered joining us?”

“What? No, never. It’s not really my thing.”

“But you’ve seen us.”

“Well, it’s not like you go unnoticed,” he shrugged. “You’re kind of famous.”

“You’re funny. Do you want to come to my party this Friday? It’s my birthday.”

“You just met me,” the painter stated disbelievingly.

“Yeah, and you’re pretty cool.”

“Do I need to get you a present?”

“Alcohol would be good.”

Grantaire sighed through his nose, but smirked nonetheless. “Alright,” he nodded.

“Cool, I’ll text you the address, give me your number” the brunet rolled his eyes but spelled his number anyway.

♫

He still wasn’t sure what he was doing there, but it was too late to regret it now. Maybe he could leave soon, that guy Bahorel probably wouldn’t pay him much attention anyway.

“Grantaire, you came!” said boy yelled the minute he put a feet inside his house, barely three blocks from his. “Hey guys, this dude is in my art class and it’s hilarious!” he said to no one in particular.

“No I’m not. You’re the one who does all the talking while I’m trying to paint.”

“And he’s very talented too, at painting. He said he was not interested in our club though.”

“Hello! I’m Courfeyrac, those boring guys over there are Combeferre, Enjolras and Jehan, on the other side you have Marius and Cosette, you don’t want to get in the middle of that so I recommend you to stay away from them, and if you want to have fun I invite you to join ‘Rel, Éponine and me at the bar because I have no idea where the rest of these people came from but one is supposed to be with the birth guy when you’re at a birthday party, right? Come on, let’s go,” he slid an arm over the painter’s shoulder and led him to the bar.

And consequently he was stuck with a very drunk Bahorel, a way too cheerful person called Courfeyrac and a very sour girl called Éponine who apparently was a member of the band because he had never seen her at school before. He stayed awkwardly drinking with them and trying to keep up with a conversation that didn’t really make any sense but was funny nonetheless, except for the girl who kept glaring daggers to the couple Courfeyrac had told him to avoid earlier, and he really wasn’t drunk enough to find Bahorel anything but loud, and the same could apply to the excessively nice brunet that still had his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, but he decided that it had been a good time nevertheless. A good time that he was ready to finish, so he was glad when two guys arrived and Bahorel left them to say hello, and thought he was free to go when he didn’t come back, but Courfeyrac wouldn’t let him, so he stayed there, listening to a very confusing story about a lonely tree next to a residential area—or was it a factory?—. Finally that guy had to go to the bathroom and he was free. Or so he thought, because when he was getting to the door a freaking angel got in his way.

“Hey, you’re leaving already?”

“I just wanted a little of fresh air,” he lied for no reason, but he felt stupidly relieved when the blond smiled after hearing he wasn’t leaving.

“Yeah, Courfeyrac can be a little too much when you just meet him, but he’s a good guy.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows and the blond grimaced. “He really is!”

The brunet chuckled. “Okay, if you say so.”

“Good. Bahorel said you painted? Maybe you could help us with our signs for next Thursday’s protest?”

Grantaire tried to look like he wasn’t affected by the blond words, but judging by how his face fell, he didn’t make it.

“I’m sorry; Combeferre says sometimes I can be a little insensible. You don’t have to answer to that, it was selfish. Do you want to come and join us at the bar? So we can talk about anything and I don’t mention what I might get from you?”

“Sure,” he slurred with his heartbeat like a drum in his ears. Still could he be any more perfect? He practically apologized for feeding Grantaire’s unsupported hopes and then talking to him like a normal person. So he ended up back in the party but he couldn’t care less, because a Greek god was smiling to him, and talking to him, and damn he probably wanted Grantaire to talk back but he couldn’t bring his brain to work properly.

“These are Combeferre and Jehan.”

“I believe we’ve met before,” the poet smiled. “You’re Grantaire, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You’re that poet. I like what you write.”

“You read the school’s bulletin?” Combeferre was the one surprised the most.

Grantaire chuckled. “I know, shocking, isn’t it?” he took a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I do. I got to admit I only did it at first because I had to, since I made the cover, but now I genuinely like it. The news are a little too much but the comic book section is witty and funny and the literature section is quite good. Apparently there are talented people in our school,” he winked.

“You do the covers?” the brunet was surprised once again. “Then Bahorel is right, you’re very good!”

“Thank you, I think,” Grantaire frowned but chuckled.

“You really are good!”

“What do you mean the news are ‘ _too much_ ’?” Enjolras inquired with a slight frown.

“Well,” the painter grimaced, “considering your songs, you probably agree with them, but it’s all about social issues and activism and injustice and… I mean, that’s okay for a real paper, or for the internet, but a school bulletin? I’m surprised they haven’t tried to discontinue it.”

“It probably helps that our main reporter is anonymous,” Jehan smirked, and the blond looked away.

Grantaire barely spat the drink he was having. “Oh my god, you write the main column, don’t you?” he asked Enjolras with a dismayed look. “I’m sorry, I should have known.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ve been writing for it for over a year and almost no one has noticed,” the singer shrugged.

“But you say the same things you sing about!”

“I write the truth,” he stated, “so really, it shouldn’t mean anything if someone sings about it and someone else writes it, everyone deep down should know it.”

“Or maybe they just don’t care enough to think about it,” Grantaire said, and bit his tongue the moment the words came out of his mouth. The blonde’s face fell, and he regretted it deeply, but he didn’t take it back. It was what he honestly thought anyway.

“I’d like to think that that’s not the case,” Combeferre argued. “We don’t know if the people who read the bulletin listen to us, and since the bulletin doesn’t get that many readers anyway, it’s not outrageous to think that those who follow us don’t read it.”

“Sure, that could be it too,” he smirked.

“You don’t believe it,” Enjolras deadpanned.

“No, not really,” Grantaire shook his head.

Enjolras was frowning, but he got closer to the painter as he asked: “Are you always like this?”

“What do you mean? Am I always this witty, funny and objective or…?”

“Detached,” the singer cut him.

The brunet blinked. “Oh, well… yes, I guess.”

“Grantaire, my boy!” Bahorel appeared out of nowhere and hugged him by the shoulders, resting almost fully on him with a happy, drunk expression. “How did you like my party? Wasn’t it great?”

“You’re speaking in past?”

“Yeah, my neighbor kind of called the cops,” he gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that, all of you should probably go, they’ll be here soon.”

“What?” Combeferre was the first to react, grabbing the birthday boy by the shoulder and forcing him to focus on his face. “Say that again,” he demanded.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” the drummer replied, and Jehan took him to the bathroom with a shrug and an uncertain look shared with the others.

“Okay, I’m out of here,” Grantaire announced.

“You sure you don’t want to join the music club? We hardly ever play any music,” the blond asked one more time, and Grantaire felt tempted to say yes only to make sure that he’d talked to him again. Thank god he hadn’t drink that much, because he was already drunk from the singer’s presence alone. “No, I’m sure, but I’d like to keep meeting all of you guys, you’re fun.” The smile that Enjolras gave him could’ve blinded him.

“We usually go to have lunch downtown so we can meet with Éponine. Would you like to join us?”

“Sure,” he grinned, and ran when he heard the distinct sound of sirens. The house was almost empty by then, and he easily avoided them.

Enjolras wasn’t so lucky, but he figured someone would need to talk to the cops, since Bahorel was still puking in the bathroom and Jehan was with him. Combeferre had disappeared too with Courfeyrac, and he had lost sight of the rest of the band long ago. He grimaced when he recognized one of the officers that entered the place.

“Enjolras?” the rookie was stunned, and took him aside to speak with him. “I didn’t think I’d see you here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, you can see that most people already left. Everything’s fine, the party is over, and the host is throwing up in the bathroom,” he informed.

The officer nodded. “Alright, do you need a lift home or something? Does your dad know you were here? I can cover you with the inspector, it’s no big deal.”

The teenager sighed. “My father knows I’m here, and I’m driving. I didn’t drink.”

He got an arched eyebrow in response. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Officer Gilbert,” he glared, and the young officer gave him a comforting smile.

“Very well, I’ll tell my partner everything’s fine. Be careful… are you sure you don’t need a lift home? Your stepdad would have my head if anything happened to you.”

He felt the irrational urge to clarify that Javert was not married to his father and therefor, he was not his _stepdad_ , but he knew that would’ve been pointless. He grimaced but controlled his voice to mutter a halfhearted ‘ _I’m sure_ ’ and went to tell Jehan he was leaving, making sure that Bahorel would survive. He only had gotten his license a month ago, and he knew Javert was staying at his place tonight. The last thing he needed was to go back home in a police car the first night he drove to a party. He turned off the radio and tried to keep his mind away from the sour ending the party had, and the man sharing a bed with his father, and he surprised himself a little later when he discovered he had succeeded easily. He tried to ignore the jolt of his heart and went to sleep with a tiny smile plastered on his face, thinking of the intriguing painter he had met that night.

♫

“That is never going to happen,” Grantaire shook his head with a mean grin, and stole one of Bahorel’s fries. It was already passed four; if he hadn’t finished his fries yet, everyone was in their right to eat them. Or so the brunet had said the first time he stole some, about ten minutes prior.

“You don’t know that,” Enjolras scowled.

“No, but seriously come on, people like their privileges too much, they love to feel like they’re above others, that’s why this fucked up system keeps going, and it’s not going to leave.”

“We could change that.”

The painter rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coke. “We are only just people.”

“It’s a cultural thing, it’s not like everyone is plain evil and unable to change.”

“Okay, c’mon guys, that chick is looking at us funny…” Feuilly muttered and Enjolras scowled while Grantaire shrugged with an ironic smile.

Marius coughed awkwardly. “Well, Cosette just texted me she’s coming with ‘Chetta to do some shopping and asked me to go to the movies with them, anybody want to come?”

“We’re going,” Bossuet gestured towards him and Joly.

“I believe the rest of us will decline, but thank you for the offer,” Courfeyrac grinned.

“Okay, bye.”

Enjolras snorted.

“The poor boy was waiting for you to say you’d go with them at any minute, En,” Bahorel chuckled.

“Why?” Grantaire frowned clueless.

“Oh, you don’t know? Marius is dating Enjolras’s twin sister,” Courfeyrac explained.

“He is dating your sister?” he asked, though he really wanted to say ‘ _you have a twin sister?_ ’, he considered it wouldn’t do any good to him to ask that, and bit his tongue. She must be beautiful, but he wasn’t into girls anyway.

“Yes, they always claim it was love at first sight,” the blond confessed rolling his eyes, “you don’t want to ask them anything about it, believe me.”

“So you don’t believe in love at first sight?”

Enjolras raised one eyebrow. “Do you?”

“No, but since you seem to believe in all kinds of fairy tales…”

“I believe that the world can be a better place, I do. Why is it so hard for you to conceive it possible?”

“Because people are evil, and whenever they get a little power in their hands they use it for their benefit. They are unable to think beyond their own needs, it’s always going to be about them first,” he shook his head. “How could the world be a better place if we’re still here? Humanity is like the cancer of the earth.”

“I disagree with you.”

“Of course you do. I believe the question now is do I want to hear why you do?”

“I don’t believe every single human is like that. I think everything has to do with the way one is raised, and those who surround you, that defines you. Because everyone has goodness and evilness inside, that’s what I believe, but one has not the need to act on any of them. Sure that not being good sometimes can be a synonym of being evil, but is not always like that.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but smile without a proper response in return. Perhaps if he tried he could prove him wrong easily enough, but he had liked the sound of his voice too much, the look on his face full of conviction and _hope,_ that he decided it wasn’t worth it. Other time he’d totally enjoy pissing him off, but now, now he just wanted to capture his expression on paper so he’d never forget it.

“Well, aren’t you naïve,” he said instead. “It must be nice to live in your head.”

“I don’t think I’d like getting into yours,” the singer replied. “I wouldn’t mind remembering all those formulas, though.”

“They’re not hard! I can’t believe you’re having trouble with physics! Mr. Patrick looks at you like you’ve given him his hope in humanity back.”

“That’s because English it’s easy,” he shrugged. “Physics is… not.”

“Why don’t you guys study together?” Courfeyrac proposed with a singular spark in his eyes. “Grantaire can teach you physics and you teach him English.”

“That sounds like a good idea, actually,” Combeferre nodded.

Grantaire felt his head light, and turned to see the blond that looked like he was considering it. “I wouldn’t mind,” he mumbled, his tongue suddenly hefty. “Would you?”

The blond shook his head. “Actually, I think I would like to. I have a test tomorrow though, so maybe if you could teach me before…”

“I’m free right now.”

“Oh… sure, you could come to my house?”

If two hours ago, Courfeyrac would’ve told Grantaire that he’d been at Enjolras’ place tonight, he’d accused him of mocking him. At the moment, he honestly thought he was in a coma or drugged out of his mind.

The singer’s room was like everything and anything he ever thought it would be. There were books, dozens of books spread everywhere, but not a single item of clothe out of place. Sheets of music and papers and all sorts of discs too, were sprawled on the floor and on his queen-size bed of red blankets and blue pillows, but no trace of food or any kind of garbage.

He hadn’t thought the walls would be white. It shocked him a little, but he liked it. The sunlight that came through the window at six o’clock shouldn’t have been much, but the room was bright and peaceful in a way that didn’t exactly match the euphoric boy.

“Enjolras have you seen my—oh,” Jean Valjean was surprised to find his son alone in his bedroom with a boy he’d never seen before, and he didn’t do anything to hide it.

“Grantaire, that’s my dad; dad, this is Grantaire. He is from school, and he’s helping me with a physics assignment.”

“Oh, hello Grantaire, thank you for helping my son,” his smile was genuine, and that was what startled him the most.

He snapped out of his astonishment to mumble: “It’s nothing; he’s helping me with English so it’s more of a transaction than a favor.”

“I see,” the man beamed. “Well, sorry to bother you boys but have you seen my laptop? I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

“Did you look in the kitchen? Last time Javert made dinner you answered your emails with him.”

“Oh, that’s right; it must be there, thank you,” he gave them one last huge smile and turned without another word.

When the man finally left leaving the door deliberately open, Grantaire turned to see his host with a shocked expression and said: “Your father is a senator.” It wasn’t a question. Even him, who wasn’t the least interested in politics, had heard of the all-good Jean Valjean.

“Yeah,” the blond shrugged.

“It should be illegal to have such a perfect life.”

“What do you mean perfect?” Enjolras frowned.

“C’mon Apollo, is already too hard to say no to you because of how you look, but your dad is a politician too? And one that is not a complete bastard, and is adored by people? It must be a joke.”

“What do you mean with ‘ _because of how I look_ ’? How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” the word was out of his mouth before he could help it. “Everybody knows good looking people are luckier, and you fit that category,” he crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, in a futile attempt to seem apathetic instead of flushed. “It’s not fair for the rest of us, Apollo,” he smirked, but he didn’t dare to look him in the eye.

Enjolras was too flustered to notice anyway.

“Enjolras, will your friend be staying for dinner?” the voice of the senator brought them back to the real world. Grantaire shook his head with a sheepish smile, and to the blonde’s slight frown he explained: “I don’t want to bother, besides, it’s still kind of early to me, I usually have dinner around nine.”

“We won’t be eating right away…”

“Yeah, but if I don’t make it in time for dinner at my house I’ll have to tell my folks where I was; and I’d rather not doing that.”

“Oh,” the singer finally looked away. “That’s understandable, I guess.”

“You’ll do just fine tomorrow,” he assured. “But remember to help me with my essay, it’s for next week.”

“Come to see us to the music club tomorrow.”

Only then did Grantaire realize that he would’ve gone anyway, even if he wasn't invited.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!


End file.
